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READY  FOK  THE  FKONT. 


THE    RECOLLECTIONS 


OF 


A    DRUMMER-BOY 


BY 


HARRY   M.    KIEFFER 

LATE  OF  THE  ONE  HUNDRED  AXD  FIFTIETH  REGIMENT 
PENNSYLVANIA  VOLUNTEERS 


SIXTH  EDITION',  REVISED  AND  ENLAKCJED 


"  Forsan  et  luec  oiim  meminisse  juvabit  " 

VIRGIL,  ^ENEID  i.  203 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR    AND     COMPANY 

211  Cretnont  Street 
1889 


COPYRIGHT,  1881,  BY  HAKHY  M.  KIEFFER;  1883,  BY  THE  CENTURY  Co. 

AND   1888,  BY   TlCKNOR  &  Co. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


ELECTROTYPED  BY 

C.  J.  PETERS  &  SON,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 

THE    OFFICERS    AND    MEN 

OF 

THE  ONE   HUNDRED  AND  FIFTIETH    REGIMENT 
PENNSYLVANIA  VOLUNTEERS, 

<an&  to  tfjetr  (CfjtlBren, 

rfl/5    VOLUME  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED. 


550^32 


PREFACE   TO   THE   REVISED   EDITION. 


THE  generous  words  of  praise  awarded  by  the  press  of  the  country 
to  these  Recollections,  and  the  widespread  favor  with  which  they  have 
been  received  throughout  the  land  —  by  none  more  so  than  by  the 
veterans  themselves,  and  their  children  —  together  with  the  fact  that 
the  book  has  been  long  out  of  print,  though  much  inquired  for,  war- 
rants the  publication  of  a  new  and  enlarged  edition  in  a  different  and, 
it  is  believed,  a  greatly  improved  dress.  With  the  exception  of  the 
addition  of  some  recently  remembered  incidents,  which  it  is  thought 
the  reader  will  enjoy,  the  narrative  remains  unchanged.  It  is  hoped 
that  it  may  continue  to  give  as  great  pleasure  to  many  readers  to 
peruse  these  pages  as  it  was  to  the  author  to  write  them. 

EASTON,   PA.,  August  1,  1888. 


PREFACE. 


As  some  apology  would  seem  to  be  necessary  for  the  effort,  here- 
with made,  to  add  yet  one  more  volume  to  the  already  overcrowded 
shelf  containing  the  Nation's  literature  of  the  great  Civil  War,  it  may 
be  well  to  say  a  few  words  in  explanation  of  the  following  pages. 

Several  years  ago  the  writer  prepared  a  brief  series  of  papers  for 
the  columns  of  St.  Nicholas,  under  the  title  of  "  Recollections  of  a 
Drummer-Boy."  It  was  thought  that  these  sketches  of  army  life,  as 
seen  by  a  boy,  would  prove  enjoyable  and  profitable  to  children  in 
general,  and  especially  to  the  children  of  the  men  who  participated  in 
the  great  Civil  War,  on  one  side  or  the  other ;  while  the  belief  was 
entertained  that  they  might  at  the  same  time  serve  to  revive  in  the 
minds  of  the  veterans  themselves  long-forgotten  or  but  imperfectly 
remembered  scenes  and  experiences  in  camp  and  field.  In  the  out- 
start  it  was  not  the  author's  design  to  write  a  connected  story,  but 
rather  simply  to  prepare  a  few  brief  and  hasty  sketches  of  army  life, 
drawn  from  his  own  personal  experience  and  suitable  for  magazine 
purposes.  But  these,  though  prepared  in  such  intervals  as  could  with 
difficulty  be  spared  from  the  exacting  duties  of  a  busy  professional  life, 
having  been  so  kindly  received  by  the  editors  of  St.  Nicholas,  as  well 
as  by  the  very  large  circle  of  readers  of  that  excellent  magazine, 
and  the  writer  having  been  urgently  pressed  on  all  sides  for  more  of 
the  same  kind,  it  was  thought  well  to  revise  and  enlarge  the  "  Recol- 
lections of  a  Drummer-Boy,"  and  to  present  them  to  the  public  in 
permanent  book  form.  In  the  shape  of  a  more  or  less  connected  story 
of  army  life,  covering  the  whole  period  of  a  soldier's  experience  from 

11 


12  PREFACE. 

enlistment  to  muster-out,  and  carried  forward  through  all  the  stirring 
scenes  of  camp  and  field,  it  was  believed  that  these  "  Recollections," 
in  the  revised  form,  would  commend  themselves  not  only  to  the 
children  of  the  soldiers  of  the  late  war,  but  to  the  surviving  soldiers 
themselves  ;  while  at  the  same  time  they  would  possess  a  reasonable 
interest  for  the  general  reader  as  well. 

From  first  to  last  it  has  been  the  author's  design,  while  endeav- 
oring faithfully  to  reflect  the  spirit  of  the  army  to  which  he  belonged, 
to  avoid  all  needless  references  of  a  sectional  nature,  and  to  present 
to  the  public  a  story  of  army  life  which  should  breathe  in  every  page 
of  it  the  noble  sentiment  of  "  malice  towards  none,  and  charity 
for  all." 

In  all  essential  regards,  the  following  pages  are  what  they  profess 
to  be,  —  the  author's  personal  recollections  of  three  years  of  army 
life  in  active  service  in  the  field.  In  a  few  instances,  it  is  true,  certain 
incidents  have  been  introduced  which  did  not  properly  fall  within  the 
range  of  the  writer's  personal  experience ;  but  these  have  been 
admitted  merely  as  by  the  way,  or  for  the  sake  of  being  true  to  the 
spirit  rather  than  to  the  letter.  Facts  and  dates  have  been  given  as 
accurately  as  the  author's  memory,  aided  by  a  carefully  kept  army 
journal,  would  permit ;  while  the  names  of  officers  and  men  men- 
tioned in  the  narrative  are  given  as  they  appear  in  the  published 
muster-rolls,  with  the  exception  of  several  instances,  easily  recognized 
by  the  intelligent  reader,  in  which,  for  evident  reasons,  it  seemed  best 
to  conceal  the  actors  beneath  fictitious  names.  While  speaking  of  the 
matter  of  names,  an  affectionate  esteem  for  a  faithful  bo}Thood's  friend 
and  subsequent  army  messmate  constrains  the  writer  to  mention  that, 
as  u  Andy  "  was  the  name  by  which  Fisher  Gutelius,  "  high  private  in 
the  rear  rank,"  was  commonly  known  while  wearing  the  blue,  it  has 
bfen  deemed  well  to  allow  him  to  appear  in  the  narrative  under  cover 
of  this,  his  army  sobriquet. 


PREFACE.  13 

As  no  full  and  complete  history  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Fiftieth 
Regiment  Pennsylvania  Volunteers  has  ever  yet  been  written,  it  is 
hoped  that  these  Recollections  of  one  of  its  humblest  members  may 
serve  the  purpose  of  recalling  to  the  minds  of  surviving  comrades  the 
stirring  scenes  through  which  they  passed,  as  well  as  of  keeping  alive 
in  coming  time  the  name  and  memory  of  an  organization  which 
deserved  well  of  its  country  during  the  ever-memorable  days  of  now 
more  than  twenty  years  ago. 

The  author  herewith  acknowledges  his  indebtedness  for  certain 
facts  to  a  brief  sketch  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Fiftieth  Regiment 
Pennsylvania  Volunteers  by  Thomas  Chamberlain,  late  Major  of  the 
same ;  and  to  John  C.  Kensill,  late  sergeant  of  Company  F.,  for  valu- 
able information  :  and  to  the  editors  of  St.  Nicholas  for  their  uniform 
courtesy  and  encouragement. 

It  cannot  fail  to  interest  the  reader  to  know  that  the  illustrations 
signed  A.  C.  R.  were  drawn  by  Allen  C.  Redwood,  who  served  in  the 
Confederate  army,  and  witnessed,  albeit  from  the  other  side  of  the 
fence,  many  of  the  scenes  which  his  graphic  pencil  has  so  admirably 
depicted. 

With  these  few  words  of  apology  and  explanation,  the  author 
herewith  places  THE  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  DKUMMEK-BOY  in  the 

hands  of  a  patient  and  ever-indulgent  public. 

H.  M.  K. 
NORRISTOWN,  PA.,  March,  1,  1883. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGIC 

I.  OFF  TO  THE  WAR 21 

II.  FIRST  DAYS  IN  CAMP 33 

III.  ON  TO  WASHINGTON 44 

IV.  OUR  FIRST  WINTER  QUARTERS 51 

V.  A  GRAND  REVIEW     .     .     , 58 

VI.  ON  PICKET  ALONG  THE  RAPPAHANNOCK  64 

VII.  A  MUD  MARCH  AND  A  SHAM  BATTLE 73 

VIII.  How  WE  GOT  A  SHELLING  ...  - 84 

IX.  IN  THE  WOODS  AT  CHANCELLORSVILLE 92 

X.  THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  GETTYSBURG 101 

XI.  AFTER  THE  BATTLE 121 

XLI.  THROUGH  "MARYLAND,  MY  MARYLAND" 125 

XIII.  PAINS  AND  PENALTIES 135 

XIV.  A  TALE  OF  A  SQUIRREL  AND  THREE  BLIND  MICE 145 

XV.  "THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  REGIMENT" 154 

XVI.  AROUND  THE  CAMP-FIRE 162 

XVII.  OUR  FIRST  DAY  IN  "THE  WILDERNESS" 171 

XVIII.  A  BIVOUAC  FOR  THE  NIGHT 181 

XIX.  "WENT   DOWN   TO   JERICHO   AND   FELL  AMONG   TlIIKVKS "    ....  189 

XX.  IN  THE  FRONT  AT  PETERSBURG 197 

XXI.  FUN  AND  FROLIC 211 

XXII.  CHIEFLY  CULINARY 221 

XXIII.  HATCHER'S  RUN 227 

XXIV.  KILLED,  WOUNDED,  OR  MISSING? 232 

XXV.  A  WINTER  RAID  TO  NORTH  CAROLINA 237 

XXVI.  "JOHNNY   COMES   MARCHING   HOME  ! "    .                                  .'     .  243 


15 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


READY  FOR  THE  FRONT Frontispiece 

THE  COMPANY  STARTS  FOR  THE  WAR 27 

CAMP  SCENES 37 

TAILPIECE 43 

IN  WINTER  QUARTERS • 53 

WAITING  TO  BE  REVIEWED  BY  THE  PRESIDENT 59 

TAILPIECE 63 

IN  A  DANGEROUS  PART  OF  ins  BEAT 68 

THE  QUARTERMASTER'S  TRIUMPH « 79 

TAILPIECE 83 

GENERAL  DOUBLED  AY  DISMOUNTS  AND  SIGHTS  THE  GUN 87 

TAILPIECE 91 

A  SURGEON  WRITING  UPON  THE  POMMEL  OF  HIS  SADDLE  AN  ORDER  FOR 

AN  AMBULANCE 95 

ON  THE  MARCH  TO  AND  FROM  GETTYSBURG      . 103 

A  SKIRMISH  AFTER  A  HARD  DAY'S  MARCH 109 

AT  CLOSE  QUARTERS  THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  GETTYSBURG 115 

TAILPIECE 124 

I'VE  GOT  HIM  BOYS 130 

DRUMMING  SNEAK  THIEVES  OUT  OF  CAMP 136 

TAILPIECE 144 

"OLD  ABE" 159 

TAILPIECE 161 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  AROUND  THE  CAMP  FIRE 165 

SICK 167 

CAL  WIRT'S  MAP  OF  THE  WAR 168 

A  SCENE  IN  THE  FIELD  HOSPITAL 175 

ARMY  BADGES    . 182 

"GENERAL  GRANT  CAN'T  HAVE  ANY  OF  THIS  WATER"  ........  185 

17 


18  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"WENT  DOWN  TO  JERICHO" 191 

ANDY  HAD  BOUGHT  THE  SORREL  FOR  TEX  DOLLARS 105 

"BETTER  GET  OFF'N  DAT  DAR  MULE  " 199 

FINDING  A  WOUNDED  PICKET  IN  A  RIFLE-PIT ....'.  201 

SCENE  AMONG  THE  RIFLE-PITS  BEFORE  PETERSBURG 205 

THE  MAGAZINE  WHERE  THE  POWDER  AND  SHELLS  WERE  STORED  ....  209 

"FALL  IN  FOR  HARD-TACK!" 223 

THE  CONFLICT  AT  DAYBREAK  IN  THE  WOODS  AT  HATCHER'S  RUN  ....  229 

WRECKING  THE  RAILWAY 239 

THE  CHARGE  ON  THE  CAKES  . 245 

THE  WELCOME  HOME 248 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 


THE 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OFF    TO    THE    WAK. 

"  IT  is  no  use,  Andy,  I  cannot  study  any  more.  I  have  struggled 
against  this  feeling,  and  have  again  and  again  resolved  to  shut  myself 
up  to  my  books  and  stop  thinking  about  the  war;  but  when  news 
comes  of  one  great  battle  after  another,  and  I  look  around  in  the 
schoolroom  and  see  the  many  vacant  seats  once  occupied  by  the  older 
boys,  and  think  of  where  they  are,  and  what  they  may  be  doing  away 
down  in  Dixie,  I  fall  to  day-dreaming  and  wool-gathering  over  my 
books,  and  it  is  just  no  use.  I  cannot  study  any  more.  I  might  as 
well  leave  school,  and  go  home  and  get  at  something  else." 

But  my  companion  was  apparently  too  deeply  interested  in  unrav- 
elling the  intricacies  of  a  sentence  in  Caesar  'to  pay  much  attention 
to  what  I  had  been  saying.  For  Andy  was  a  studious  boy,  and  the 
sentence  with  which  he  had  been  wrestling  when  the  bell  rang  for 
recess  could  not  at  once  be  given  up.  He  had  therefore  carried  his  book 
with  him  on  our  walk  as  we  strolled  leisurely  up  the  green  lane  which 
led  past  the  "  Old  Academy,"  and,  with  his  copy  of  Csesar  spread  out 
before  him,  lay  stretched  out  at  full  length  on  the  greensward,  in  the 
shade  of  a  large  cherry-tree,  whose  fruit  was  already  turning  red 
under  the  warm  spring  sun.  It  was  a  beautiful,  dreamy  day  in  May, 
early  in  the  summer  of  1862,  the  second  year  of  the  great  Civil  War. 

21 


22  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

The  air  was  laden  with  the  sweet  scent  of  the  young  clover,  and  vocal 
with  the  song  of  the  robin  and  the  bluebird.  The  sky  was  cloudless 
overhead,  and  the  soft  spring  breeze  blew  balmily  up  from  the  south. 
Behind  ns  were  the  hills,  covered  with  orchards,  and  beneath  us  lay 

the  quiet  little  village  of  M ,  with  its  one  thousand  inhabitants, 

and  beyond  it  the  valley,  renowned  far  and  wide  for  its  beauty,  while 
in  the  farther  background,  deep  blue  mountains  rose  towering  toward 
the  sky. 

My  companion,  apparently  quite  indifferent  to  the  languid  influ- 
ence of  the  season,  resolutely  persevered  at  his  task  until  he  had 
triumphantly  mastered  it.  Then,  closing  the  book  and  clasping  his 
hands  behind  his  head  as  he  rolled  around  on  his  back,  he  looked  at 
me  with  a  smile  and  said,  - 

"  Oh  !  you  only  have  the  spring  fever,  Harry." 

"  No,  I  haven't,  Andy ;  it  was  the  same  last  winter.  And  don't 
you  remember  how  excited  you  were  when  the  news  came  about  Fort 
Sumter  last  spring?  You  would  have  enlisted  right  off,  had  your 
father  consented.  Or,  may  be,  you  had  the  spring  fever  then  ?  " 

"I'm  all  over  that  now,  and  for  good  and  all.  I  want  to  study,  and 
as  I  cannot  study  and  keep  on  thinking  of  the  war  all  the  time,  why  I 
just  stop  thinking  about  the  war  as  well  as  I  can." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  cannot.  Look  at  our  school:  why,  there  are 
scarcely  any  large  boys  left  in  it  any  more,  only  little  fellows  and  the 
girls.  For  my  part,  I  ought  to  get  at  something  else." 

"What  would  you  get  at?  You  would  feel  the  same  anywhere 
else.  There  is  Ike  Zellers,  the  blacksmith,  for  example.  When  I 
came  past  his  shop  this  morning,  on  my  way  to  school,  instead  of 
being  busy  with  hammer  and  tongs,  as  he  should  have  been,  there  he 
was,  sitting  on  an  old  harrow  outside  his  shop  door  whittling  a  stick, 
while  Elias  Foust  was  reading  an  account  of  the  last  battle  from 
some  newspaper.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Elias  and  Ike  both  would  be 


OFF  TO   THE    WAE.  23 

enlisting  some  one  of  these  days.  It  is  the  same  everywhere.  All 
people  feel  the  excitement  of  the  war  —  storekeepers,  tradesmen, 
farmers,  and  even  the  women  ;  and  we  schoolboys  are  no  exception. 

"  Would  you  enlist,  Andy,  if  your  father  would  consent  ?  You 
are  old  enough." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should,  Harry.  I  want  to  stick  to  study.  But 
there  is  no  telling  what  a  person  may  do  when  he  is  once  taken  down 
with  this  war  fever.  But  you  are  too  young  to  enlist ;  they  wouldn't 
take  you.  And  you  had  therefore  better  make  up  your  mind  to  stick 
to  school,  and  help  me  at  my  Caesar.  If  you  want  war,  there's  enough 
of  it  in  old  Julius  here  to  satisfy  the  most  bloodthirsty,  I  should 
think." 

"  You  will  find  more  about  war,  and  of  a  more  romantic  kind  too, 
in  Virgil  and  Homer,  when  you  get  on  so  far  in  your  studies,  Andy. 
But  the  wars  of  Caesar  and  the  siege  of  Troy,  what  are  they  when 
compared  with  the  great  war  now  being  waged  in  our  own  time 
and  country  ?  The  nodding  plumes  of  Hector,  and  the  shining  armor 
of  all  old  Homer's  heroes,  do  not  seem  to  me  half  so  interesting  or 
magnificent  as  the  brave  uniforms  in  which  some  of  our  older  school- 
fellows occasionally  come  home  on  furlough." 

"  Up  there  on  the  hillside,"  said  Andy,  suddenly  rising  from  his 
reclining  posture,  "  is  cousin  Joe  Gutelius,  hoeing  corn  in  his  father's 
lot.  Let's  go  up  and  see  what  he  has  to  say  about  the  war." 

We  found  Joe  busy,  and  hard  at  work  with  the  young  corn.  He 
was  a  fine  young  fellow,  perhaps  twenty-two  or  twenty-three  years  of 
age,  tall,  well  built,  of  a  fine,  manly  bearing,  and  looked  a  likely 
subject  for  a  recruiting  officer,  as,  in  response  to  our  loud  "Hello, 
Joe  !  "  he  left  his  unfinished  row,  and  came  down  to  the  fence  for 
a  talk. 

"  Rather  a  warm  day  for  work  in  a  cornfield,  isn't  it  Joe?" 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Joe,  as  he  threw  down  his  hoe  and  mounted  the 


24  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

top  rail,  wiping  away  the  perspiration,  which  stood  in  great  beads  on 
his  brow.  "But  I  believe  I'd  rather  hoe  corn  than  go  to  school 
such  beautiful  weather.  Nearly  kill  me  to  be  penned  up  in  the  old 
academy  such  a  day  as  this." 

" That's  what's  the  matter  with  Harry,  here,"  said  Andy.  "He's 
got  the  spring  fever,  I  tell  him  ;  but  he  thinks  he's  got  the  war  fever. 
I  told  him  we'd  come  up  here  and  see  what  you  had  to  say  about  it." 

"  About  what  ?     About  the  spring  fever,  or  about  the  war  ?  " 

"  Why,  about  the  war,  of  course,  Joe,"  said  Andy,  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  boys,  I  know  what  the  war  fever  is  like.  I  had  a  touch  of 
it  last  winter,  when  the  Fifty-first  boys  went  off;  and  I  came  very 
near  going  along  with  them,  too.  But  my  brothers,  Charlie  and  Sam, 
both  wanted  to  go,  and  I  declared  that  if  they  went  I'd  go  too ;  and 
mother  took  it  so  much  to  heart  that  we  all  had  to  give  it  up. 
Charlie  and  Sam  came  near  joining  a  cavalry  company  some  months 
ago,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  much  if  they  did  get  off  one  of  these 
days ;  but,  as  for  myself,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  stay  at  home  and  take 
care  of  the  old  folks." 

"  And  I  tell  Harry,  here,"  said  Andy,  "that  he  had  better  stick  to 
books,  and  help  me  with  my  Csesar." 

"  Or  he  might  get  a  hoe,  and  come  and  help  me  with  my  corn," 
said  Joe,  with  a  smile ;  "  that  would  take  both  the  spring  fever 
and  the  war  fever  out  of  him  in  a  jiffy.  But  there  is  your  bell,  calling 
you  to  your  books.  Poor  fellows,  how  I  pity  you  !  " 

That  my  companion  would  persevere  in  his  purpose  of  "  sticking 
to  books,"  as  he  called  it,  I  had  no  doubt.  For,  besides  being  naturally 
possessed  of  a  resolute  will,  he  was  several  years  my  senior,  and 
therefore  presumably  less  liable  to  be  carried  away  by  the  prevailing 
restlessness  of  the  times.  But  for  myself,  study  continued  to  grow 
more  and  more  irksome  as  the  summer  drew  on  apace,  so  that  when, 
before  the  close  of  the  term,  a  former  schoolmate  began  to  "raise 


OFF  TO    THE    WAR.  25 

a  company,"  as  it  was  called,  for  the  nine  months'  service,  unable 
any  longer  to  endure  my  restless  longing  for  a  change,  I  sat  down  at 
my  desk  one  day  in  the  schoolroom,  and  wrote  the  following  letter 
home,  — 

"  DEAR  PAPA,  —  I  write  to  ask  whether  I  may  have  your  permis- 
sion to  enlist.  I  find  the  school  is  fast  breaking  up  ;  most  of  the  boys 
are  gone.  I  can't  study  any  more.  Won't  you  let  me  go  ?  " 

Poor  father !  In  the  anguish  of  his  heart  it  must  have  been 
that  he  sat  down  and  wrote  :  "  You  may  go  !  "  Without  the  loss  of  a 
moment  I  was  off  to  the  recruiting-office,  showed  my  father's  letter, 
and  asked  to  be  sworn  in.  But  alas !  I  was  only  sixteen,  and  lacked 
two  years  of  being  old  enough,  and  they  would  not  take  me  unless  I 
could  swear  I  was  eighteen,  which,  of  course,  I  could  not  and 
would  not  do. 

So,  then,  back  again  to  the  school  when  the  fall  term  opened,  early 
in  August,  1862,  there  to  dream  over  Horace  and  Homer,  and  that 
one  poor  little  old  siege  of  Troy,  for  a  few  days  more,  while  Andy  at 
my  side  toiled  manfully  at  his  Csesar.  The  term  had  scarcely  well 
opened,  when,  unfortunately  for  my  peace  of  mind,  a  gentleman  who 
had  been  my  school-teacher  some  years  previously,  began  to  raise 
a  company  for  the  war,  and  the  village  at  once  went  into  another 
whirl  of  excitement,  which  carried  me  utterly  away ;  for  they  said  I 
could  enlist  as  a  drummer-boy,  no  matter  how  young  I  might  be, 
provided  I  had  my  father's  consent.  But  this,  most  unfortunately, 
had  been  meanwhile  revoked.  For,  to  say  nothing  of  certain  remon- 
strances on  the  part  of  my  father  during  the  vacation,  there  had 
recently  come  a  letter,  saying,  — 

"  MY  DEAR  BOY,  —  If  you  have  not  yet  enlisted,  do  not  do  so  ; 
for  I  think  you  are  quite  too  young  and  delicate,  and  I  gave  my 
permission  perhaps  too  hastily,  and  without  due  consideration." 


26  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

But  alas,  dear  father,  it  was  too  late  then,  for  I  had  set  my  very 
heart  on  going.  The  company  was  nearly  full,  and  would  leave  in  a 
few  days,  and  everybody  in  the  village  knew  that  Harry  was  going  for 
a  drummer-boy.  Besides,  the  very  evening  on  which  the  above  letter 
reached  me  we  had  a  grand  procession,  which  marched  all  through  the 
village  street,  from  end  to  end,  and  this  was  followed  by  an  immense 
mass  meeting,  and  our  future  captain,  Henry  W.  Crotzer,  made  a 
stirring  speech,  and  the  band  played,  and  the  people  cheered  and 
cheered  again,  as  man  after  man  stepped  up  and  put  his  name  down  on 
the  list.  Albert  Foster  and  Joe  Ruhl  and  Sam  Ruhl  signed  their 
names,  and  then  Jimmy  Lucas  and  Elias  Foust  and  Ike  Zellers  and 
several  others  followed ;  and  when  Charlie  Gutelius  and  his  brother 
Sam  stepped  up,  with  Joe  at  their  heels,  declaring  that  "  if  they  went 
he'd  go  too,"  the  meeting  fairly  went  wild  with  excitement,  and  the 
people  cheered  and  cheered  again,  and  the  band  played  "  Hail  Colum- 
bia !  "  and  the  "  Star  Spangled  Banner,"  and  "  Away  Down  South,  in 
Dixie,"  and  —  in  short,  what  in  the  world  was  a  poor  boy  to  do  ? 

There  was  an  immense  crowd  of  people  at  the  depot  that  mid- 
summer morning,  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  when  our  company 
started  off  to  the  war.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  county  had  sus- 
pended work  and  voted  itself  a  holiday,  for  a  continuous  stream 

of  people,  old  and  young,  poured  out  of  the  little  village  of  L , 

and  made  its  way  through  the  bridge  across  the  river,  and  over 
the  dusty  road  beyond,  to  the  station  where  we  were  to  take  the 
train. 

The  thirteen  of  us  who  had  come  down  from  the  village  of  M to 

join  the  larger  body  of  the  company  at  L ,  had  enjoyed  something 

of  a  triumphal  progress  on  the  way.  We  had  a  brass  band  to  start 
with,  besides  no  inconsiderable  escort  of  vehicles  and  mounted  horse- 
men, the  number  of  which  was  steadily  swelled  to  quite  a  procession  as 


OFF  TO   THE    WAR.  27 

we  advanced.  The  band  played,  and  the  flags  waved,  and  the  boys 
cheered,  and  the  people  at  work  in  the  fields  cheered  back,  and  the 
young  farmers  rode  down  the  lanes  on  their  horses,  or  brought  their 


THE   COMPANY    STARTS    FOR   THE    WAR. 


sweethearts  in  their  carriages,  and  fell  in  line  with  the  dusty  proces- 
sion. Even  the  old  gatekeeper,  who  could  not  leave  his  post,  became 
much  excited  as  we  passed,  gave  "  three  cheers  for  the  Union  forever," 
and  stood  waving  his  hat  after  us  till  we  were  hid  from  sight  behind 
the  hills. 


28  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

Reaching  L about  nine  in  the  morning,  we  found  the  village 

all  ablaze  with  bunting,  and  so  wrought  up  with  the  excitement  that 
all  thought  of  work  had  evidently  been  given  up  for  that  day.  As 
we  formed  in  line,  and  marched  down  the  main  street  toward  the 
river,  the  sidewalks  were  everywhere  crowded  with  people,  —  with  boys 
who  wore  red-white-and-blue  neckties,  and  boys  who  wore  fatigue-caps ; 
with  girls  who  carried  flags,  and  girls  who  carried  flowers  ;  with  women 
who  waved  their  kerchiefs,  and  old  men  who  waved  their  walking- 
sticks  ;  while  here  and  there,  as  we  passed  along,  at  windows  and 
doorways,  were  faces  red  with  long  weeping,  for  Johnny  was  off  to  the 
war,  and  maybe  mother  and  sisters  and  sweetheart  would  never,  never 
see  him  again. 

Drawn  up  in  line  before  the  station,  we  awaited  the  train.  There 
was  scarcely  a  man,  woman  or  child  in  that  great  crowd  around  us  but 
had  to  press  up  for  a  last  shake  of  the  hand,  a  last  good  by,  and  a  last 
"  God  bless  you,  boys !  "  And  so,  amid  cheering,  and  hand-shaking, 
and  flag-waving,  and  band-playing,  the  train  at  last  came  thundering  in, 
and  we  were  off,  with  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner  "  sounding  fainter, 
and  farther  away,  until  it  was  drowned  and  lost  to  the  ear  in  the  noise 
of  the  swiftly  rushing  train. 

For  myself,  however,  the  last  good  by  had  not  yet  been  said,  for  I 
had  been  away  from  home  at  school,  and  was  to  leave  the  train  at  a 
way  station  some  miles  down  the  road,  and  walk  out  to  my  home  in 
the  country,  and  say  good  by  to  the  folks  at  home;  and  that  was  the 
hardest  part  of  it  all,  for  good  by  then  might  be  good  by  forever. 

If  anybody  at  home  had  been  looking  out  of  door  or  window  that 
hot  August  afternoon,  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  he  would  have 
seen,  coming  down  the  dusty  road,  a  slender  lad,  with  a  bundle  slung 
over  his  shoulder,  and — but  nobody  was  looking  down  the  road, 
nobody  was  in  sight.  Even  Rollo,  the  dog,  my  old  playfellow,  was 
asleep  somewhere  in  the  shade,  and  all  was  sultry,  hot,  and  still. 


OFF  TO   THE   WAR.  29 

Leaping  lightly  over  the  fence  by  the  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  I 
took  a  cool  draught  of  water,  and  looked  up  at  the  great  red  farm- 
house above  with  a  throbbing  heart,  for  that  was  home,  and  many  a 
sad  good  by  had  there  to  be  said,  and  said  again,  before  I  could  get  off 
to  the  war ! 

Long  years  have  passed  since  then,  but  never  have  I  forgotten  how 
pale  the  faces  of  mother  and  sisters  became  when,  entering  the  room 
where  they  were  at  work,  and  throwing  off  my  bundle,  in  reply  to 
their  question,  "  Why,  Harry !  where  did  you  come  from  ? "  I 
answered,  "  I  come  from  school,  and  I'm  off  for  the  war  !  "  You  may 
well  believe  there  was  an  exciting  time  of  it  in  the  dining-room  of  that 
old  red  farmhouse  then.  In  the  midst  of  that  excitement,  father  came 
in  from  the  field  and  greeted  me  with,  "  Why,  my  boy,  where  did  you 
come  from  ?  "  to  which  there  was  but  the  one  answer,  "  Come  from 
school,  and  off  for  the  war  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  I  can't  let  you  go  !  I  thought  you  had  given  up  all 
idea  of  that.  What  would  they  do  with  a  mere  boy  like  you  ?  Why, 
you'd  be  only  a  bill  of  expense  to  the  Government.  Dreadful  thing  to 
make  me  all  this  trouble  !  " 

But  I  began  to  reason  full  stoutly  with  poor  father.  1  reminded 
him,  first  of  all,  that  I  would  not  go  without  his  consent ;  that  in  two 
years,  and  perhaps  in  less,  I  might  be  drafted  and  sent  amongst  men 
unknown  to  me,  while  here  was  a  company  commanded  by  my  own 
school-teacher,  and  composed  of  acquaintances  who  would  look  after 
me ;  that  I  was  unfit  for  study  or  work  while  this  fever  was  on  me, 
and  so  on  ;  till  I  saw  his  resolution  begin  to  give  way,  as  he  lit  his 
pipe  and  walked  down  to  the  spring  to  think  the  matter  over. 

"  If  Harry  is  to  go,  father,"  mother  says,  "  had  n't  I  better  run  up 
to  the  store  and  get  some  woolens,  and  we'll  make  the  boy  an  outfit  of 
shirts  to-night,  yet?" 

"  Well  —  yes  ;  I  guess  you  had  better  do  so." 


30  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

But  when  he  sees  mother  stepping  past  the  gate  on  her  way,  he 
halts  her  with,  — 

"  Stop  !     That  boy  can't  go  !     I  can't  give  him  up  !  " 

And  shortly  after,  he  tells  her  that  she  "  had  better  be  after  getting 
that  woollen  stuff  for  shirts  ;  "  and  again  he  stops  her  at  the  gate 
with,  — 

"  Dreadful  boy !  Why  will  he  make  me  all  this  trouble  ?  I  can 
not  let  my  boy  go  !  " 

But  at  last,  and  somehow,  mother  gets  off.  The  sewing-machine  is 
going  most  of  the  night,  and  my  thoughts  are  as  busy  as  it  is,  until 
far  into  the  morning,  with  all  that  is  before  me  that  I  have  never  seen, 
and  all  that  is  behind  me  that  I  may  never  see  again. 

Let  me  pass  over  the  trying  good  by  the  next  morning,  for  Joe  is 
ready  with  the  carriage  to  take  father  and  me  to  the  station,  and  we 
are  soon  on  the  cars,  steaming  away  toward  the  great  camp,  whither 
the  company  already  has  gone. 

"  See,  Harry,  there  is  your  camp  !  "  And  looking  out  of  the  car- 
window,  across  the  river,  I  catch,  through  the  tall  tree  tops,  as  we 
rush  along,  glimpses  of  my  first  camp, — acres  and  acres  of  canvas, 
stretching  away  into  the  dim  and  dusty  distance,  occupied,  as  I  shall 
soon  find,  by  some  ten  or  twenty  thousand  soldiers,  coming  and  going 
continually,  marching  and  countermarching,  until  they  have  ground 
the  soil  into  the  driest  and  deepest  dust  I  ever  saw. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  impressions  of  camp  life  as  father  and 
I  passed  the  sentry  at  the  gate.  They  were  anything  but  pleasant ; 
and  I  could  not  but  agree  with  the  remark  of  my  father,  that,  "  the 
life  of  a  soldier  must  be  a  hard  life  indeed."  For  as  we  entered  that 
great  camp,  I  looked  into  an  A  tent,  the  front  flap  of  which  was 
thrown  back,  and  saw  enough  to  make  me  sick  of  the  housekeeping  of 
a  soldier.  There  was  nothing  in  that  tent  but  dirt  and  disorder,  pans 
and  kettles,  tin  cups  and  cracker-boxes,  forks  and  bayonet-scabbards, 


OFF   TO    THE    WAR.  31 

greasy  pork  and  broken  hard-tack  in  utter  confusion,  and  over  all  and 
everywhere  that  insufferable  dust.  Afterward,  when  we  got  into  the 
field,  our  camps  in  summer-time  were  models  of  cleanliness,  and  in 
winter  models  of  comfort,  as  far,  at  least,  as  axe  and  broom  could 
make  them  so  ;  but  this,  the  first  camp  I  ever  saw,  was  so  abominable, 
that  I  have  often  wondered  it  did  not  frighten  the  fever  out  of  me. 

But  once  among  the  men  of  the  company,  all  this  was  soon  forgot- 
ten. We  had  supper,  —  hard-tack  and  soft  bread,  boiled  pork,  and 
strong  coffee  (in  tin  cups), — fare  that  father  thought  "one  could  live 
on  right  well,  I  guess ;  "  and  then  the  boys  came  around  and  begged 
father  to  let  me  go  ;  "  they  would  take  care  of  Harry  ;  never  you  fear 
for  that ;  "  and  so  helped  on  my  cause  that  that  night,  about  eleven 
o'clock,  when  we  were  in  the  railroad  station  together,  on  the  way 
home,  father  said,  — 

"  Now,  Harry,  my  boy,  you  are  not  enlisted  yet.  I  am  going  home 
on  this  train ;  you  can  go  home  with  me  now,  or  go  with  the  boys- 
Which  will  you  do  !  " 

To  which  the  answer  came  quickly  enough,  —  too  quickly  and  too 
eagerly,  I  have  often  since  thought,  for  a  father's  heart  to  bear  it 
well,  — 

"  Papa,  I'll  go  with  the  boys !  " 

"  Well,  then,  good-by,  my  boy !  And  may  God  bless  you,  and 
bring  you  safely  back  to  me  again  !  " 

The  whistle  blew  "  Off  brakes ! "  the  car  door  closed  on  father, 
and  I  did  not  see  him  again  for  three  long,  long  years. 

Often  and  often,  as  I  have  thought  over  these  things  since,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  come  to  any  other  conclusion  than  this :  that  it  was 
the  "war  fever"  that  carried  me  off,  and  that  made  poor  father  let  me 
go.  For  that  "  war  fever "  was  a  terrible  malady  in  those  days. 
Once  you  were  taken  with  it,  you  had  a  very  fire  in  the  bones  until 
your  name  was  down  on  the  enlistment  roll.  There  was  Andy,  for 


32  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

example,  my  schoolfellow,  and  afterward  my  messmate  for  three  ever- 
memorable  years.  I  have  had  no  time  to  tell  you  how  Andy  came  to 
be  with  us ;  but  with  us  he  surely  was,  notwithstanding  he  had  so 
stoutly  asserted  his  determination  to  quit  thinking  about  the  war,  and 
stick  to  his  books. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  school  the  very  morning  the  company  was 
leaving  the  village,  with  no  idea  of  going  along ;  but  seeing  this,  that, 
and  the  other  acquaintance  in  line,  what  did  he  do  but  run  across  the 
street  to  an  undertaker's  shop,  cram  his  schoolbooks  through  the 
broken  window,  take  his  place  in  line,  and  march  off  with  the  boys 
without  so  much  as  saying  good  by  to  the  folks  at  home  !  And  he  did 
not  see  his  Caesar  and  Greek  grammar  again  for  three  years. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FIRST    DAYS    IN    CAMP. 

OUR  first  camp  was  located  on  the  outskirts  of  Harrisburg,  Perm., 
and  was  called  "  Camp  Curtin."  It  was  so  named  in  honor  of  Gov- 
ernor Andrew  G.  Curtin,  the  "  war-  governor  "  of  the  state  of  Penn- 
sylvania, who  was  regarded  by  the  soldiers  of  his  state  with  a 
patriotic  enthusiasm  second  only  to  that  with  which  they,  in  common 
with  all  the  troops  of  the  Northern  states,  greeted  the  name  of 
Abraham  Lincoln. 

Camp  Curtin  was  not,  properly,  a  camp  of  instruction.  It  was, 
rather,  a  mere  rendezvous  for  the  different  companies  which  had  been 
recruited  in  various  parts  of  the  state.  Hither  the  volunteers  came 
by  hundreds  and  thousands,  for  the  purpose  of  being  mustered  into 
the  service,  uniformed  and  equipped,  assigned  to  regiments,  and 
shipped  to  the  front  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Only  they  who  witnessed 
it  can  form  any  idea  of  the  patriotic  ardor,  amounting  often  to  a  wild 
enthusiasm,  with  which  volunteering  went  on  in  those  days.  Com- 
panies were  often  formed,  and  their  muster  rolls  filled,  in  a  week, 
sometimes  in  a  few  days.  The  contagion  of  enlisting  and  "going  to 
the  war  "  was  in  the  very  atmosphere.  You  could  scarcely  accompany 
a  friend  to  a  way  station  on  any  of  the  main  lines  of  travel  without 
seeing  the  future  wearers  of  blue  coats  at  the  car  windows,  and  on  the 
platforms.  Very  frequently,  whole  trains  were  filled  with  them,  speed- 
ing away  to  the  state  capital  as  swift  as  steam  could  carry  them. 
They  poured  into  Harrisburg,  company  by  company,  usually  in  citi- 
zens' clothes,  and  marched  out  of  the  town  a  week  or  so  later,  regi- 
ment by  regiment,  all  glorious  in  bright  new  uniforms  and  glistening 

33 


34  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

bayonets,  transformed  in  a  few  days  from  citizens  into  soldiers,  and 
destined  for  deeds  of  high  endeavor  on  many  a  bloody  field. 

Shortly  after  our  arrival  in  camp,  Andy  and  I  went  to  town  to 
purchase  such  articles  as  we  supposed  a  soldier  would  be  likely  to 
need,  —  a  gum  blanket,  a  journal,  a  combination  knife,  fork,  and 
spoon,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  list.  To  our  credit  I  have  it  to 
record  that  we  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  solicitations  of  a  certain 
dealer  in  cutlery,  who  insisted  on  selling  us  each  a  revolver,  and  an 
ugly  looking  bowie-knife  in  a  bright-red  morocco  sheath. 

"•  Shentlemens,  shust  de  ting  you  vill  need  ven  you  goes  into  de 
battle.  Ah,  see  dis  knife ;  how  it  shines !  Look  at  dis  very  fine 
revolfer !  " 

But  Moses  entreated  in  vain,  while  his  wife  stood  at  the  shop  door, 
looking  at  some  regiment  marching  down  the  street  to  the  depot, 
weeping  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  wiping  her  eyes  with  the 
corner  of  her  apron  from  time  to  time. 

"Ah,  de  poor  boys!"  said  she.  "Dere  dey  go,  again,  off  to  de 
great  war,  away  from  deir  homes,  and  deir  mutters,  deir  wives,  and 
deir  sweethearts,  all  to  be  kilt  in  de  battle  !  Dey  will  nefer  any  more 
coom  back.  Oh,  it  is  so  wicked !  " 

But  the  drums  rattled  on,  and  the  crowd  on  the  sidewalk  gazed 
and  cheered,  and  Moses,  behind  his  counter,  smiled  pleasantly  as  he 
cried  up  his  wares,  and  went  on  selling  bowie-knives  and  revolvers  to 
kill  men  with,  while  his  wife  went  on  weeping  and  lamenting  because 
men  would  be  killed  in  the  wicked  war,  and  "  nefer  any  more  coom 
back."  The  firm  of  Moses  and  wife  struck  us  as  a  very  strange  com- 
bination of  business  and  sentiment.  I  do  not  know  how  mam- 
knives  and  pistols  Moses  sold,  nor  how  many  tears  his  good  wife  shed, 
but  if  she  wept  whenever  a  regiment  marched  down  the  street  to  the 
depot,  her  eyes  must  have  been  turned  into  a  river  of  tears ;  for  the 
tap  of  the  drum  and  the  tramp  of  the  men  resounded  along  the  streets 


FIRST  DAYS  IN  CAMP.  35 

of  the  capital  by  day  and  by  night,  until  people  grew  so  used  to  it  that 
they  scarcely  noticed  it  any  more. 

The  tide  of  volunteering  was  at  the  full  during  those  early  fall 
days  of  1862.  But  the  day  came  at  length  when  the  tide  began  to 
turn.  Various  expedients  were  then  resorted  to  for  the  purpose  of 
stimulating  the  flagging  zeal  of  Pennsylvania's  sons.  At  first,  the 
tempting  bait  of  large  bounties  was  presented  —  county  bounties,  city 
bounties,  state  and  United  States  bounties — some  men  towards  the 
close  of  the  war  receiving  as  much  as  one  thousand  dollars,  and  never 
smelling  powder  at.  that.  At  last,  drafting  was  of  necessity  resorted 
to,  and  along  with  drafting  came  all .  the  miseries  of  "  hiring  substi- 
tutes," and  so  making  merchandise  of  a  service  of  which  it  is  the 
chief  glory  that  it  shall  be  free. 

But  in  the  fall  of  '62,  there  had  been  no  drafting  yet,  and  large 
bounties  were  unknown  —  and  unsought.  Most  of  us  were  taken 
quite  by  surprise  when,  a  few  days  after  our  arrival  in  camp,  we  were 
told  that  the  County  Commissioners  had  come  down  for  the  purpose 
of  paying  us  each  the  magnificent  sum  of  fifty  dollars.  At  the  same 
time,  also,  we  learned  that  the  United  States  Government  would  pay 
us  each  one  hundred  dollars  additional,  of  which,  however,  only 
twenty-five  were  placed  in  our  hands  at  once.  The  remaining  seventy- 
five  were  to  be  received  only  by  those  who  might  safely  pass  through 
all  the  unknown  dangers  which  awaited  us,  and  live  to  be  musterefl 
out  with  the  regiment  three  years  later. 

Well,  it  was  no  matter  then.  What  cared  we  for  bounty?  It 
seemed  a  questionable  procedure,  at  all  events,  this  offering  of  money 
as  a  reward  for  an  act  which,  to  be  a  worthy  act  at  all,  asks  not  and 
needs  not  the  guerdon  of  gold.  We  were  all  so  anxious  to  enter  the 
service,  that,  instead  of  looking  for  any  artificial  helps  in  that  direc- 
tion, our  only  concern  was  lest  we  might  be  rejected  by  the  examining 
surgeon  and  not  be  admitted  to  the  ranks. 


36  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY, 

For  soon  after  our  arrival,  and  before  we  were  mustered  into  the 
service,  every  man  was  thoroughly  examined  by  a  medical  officer,  who 
had  us  presented  to  him  one  by  one,  in  purus  naturalibus,  in  a  large 
tent,  where  he  sharply  questioned  us  —  "  Teeth  sound  ?  Eyes  good  ? 
Ever  had  this,  that,  and  the  other  disease  ?  "  —  and  pitiable  was  the 
case  of  that  unfortunate  man  who,  because  of  bad  hearing,  or  defec- 
tive eyesight,  or  some  other  physical  blemish,  was  compelled  to  don 
his  citizen's  clothes  again  and  take  the  next  train  for  home. 

After  having  been  thoroughly  examined,  we  were  mustered  into 
the  service.  We  were  all  drawn  up  in  line.  Every  man  raised  his 
right  hand  while  an  officer  recited  the  oath.  It  took  only  a  few 
minutes,  but  when  it  was  over  one  of  the  boys  exclaimed :  "  Now, 
fellows,  I'd  like  to  see  any  man  go  home  if  he  dare.  We  belong  to 
Uncle  Sam  now." 

Of  the  one  thousand  men  drawn  up  in  line  there  that  day,  some 
lived  to  come  back  three  years  later  and  be  drawn  up  in  line  again, 
almost  on  that  identical  spot,  for  the  purpose  of  being  mustered  out  of 
the  service.  And  how  many  do  you  think  there  were  ?  Not  more  than 
one  hundred  and  fifty. 

As  we  now  belonged  to  Uncle  Sam,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  he 
would  next  proceed  to  clothe  us.  This  he  punctually  did  a  few  days 
after  the  muster.  We  had  no  little  merriment  when  we  were  called 
out  and  formed  in  line  and  marched  up  to  the  quartermaster's  depart- 
ment at  one  side  of  the  camp,  to  draw  our  uniforms.  There  were  so 
many  men  to  be  uniformed,  and  so  little  time  in  which  to  do  it,  that 
the  blue  clothes  were  passed  out  to  us  almost  regardless  of  the  size 
and  weight  of  the  prospective  wearer.  Each  man  received  a  pair  of 
pantaloons,  a  coat,  cap,  overcoat,  shoes,  blanket,  and  underwear,  of 
which  latter  the  shirt  was  —  well,  a  revelation  to  most  of  us,  both  as  to 
size  and  shape  and  material.  It  was  so  rough,  that  no  living  mortal, 
probably,  could  wear  it,  except  perhaps  one  who  wished  to  do  penance 


CAMP  SCENES. 


FIRST  DAYS  IN  CAMP.  39 

by  wearing  a  hair  shirt.  Mine  was  promptly  sent  home  along  with  my 
citizen's  clothes,  with  the  request  that  it  be  kept  as  a  sort  of  heirloom 
in  the  family,  for  future  generations  to  wonder  at. 

With  our  clothes  on  our  arms,  we  marched  back  to  our  tents,  and 
there  proceeded  to  get  on  the  inside  of  our  new  uniforms.  The  result 
was  in  most  cases  astonishing!  For,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
scarcely  one  man  in  ten  was  fitted.  The  tall  men  had  invariably 
received  the  short  pantaloons,  and  presented  an  appearance,  when 
they  emerged  from  their  tents,  which  was  equalled  only  by  that  of  the 
short  men  who  had,  of  course,  received  the  long  pantaloons.  One 
man's  cap  was  perched  away  up  on  the  top  of  his  head,  while  another's 
rested  on  his  ears.  Andy,  who  was  not  very  tall,  waddled  forth  into 
the  company  street  amid  shouts  of  laughter,  having  his  pantaloons 
turned  up  some  six  inches  or  more  from  the  bottoms,  declaring  that 
"  Uncle  Sam  must  have  got  the  patterns  for  his  boys'  pantaloons  some- 
where over  in  France ;  for  he  seems  to  have  cut  them  after  the  style 
of  the  two  French  towns,  Toulon  and  Toulouse." 

"  Hello,  fellows  !  what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  Now  just  look  here, 
will  you  ! "  exclaimed  Pointer  Donachy,  the  tallest  man  in  the  com- 
pany, as  he  came  out  of  his  tent  in  a  pair  of  pantaloons  that  were 
little  more  than  knee-breeches  for  him,  and  began  to  parade  the  street 
with  a  tent-pole  for  a  musket.  "  How  in  the  name  of  the  American 
eagle  is  a  man  going  to  fight  the  battles  of  his  country  in  such  a 
uniform  as  this  ?  Seems  to  me  that  Uncle  Sam  must  be  a  little  short 
of  cloth,  boys." 

"  Brother  Jonathan  generally  dresses  in  tights,  you  know,"  said 
some  one. 

"Ah,"  said  Andy,  "Pointer's  uniform  reminds  one  of  what  the 
poet  says,  — 

"  'Man  needs  but  little  here  below, 
Nor  needs  that  little  long.'  " 


40  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  You're  rather  poor  at  quoting  poetry,  Andy,"  answered  Pointer, 
"  because  I  need  more  than  a  little  here  below :  I  need  at  least  six 
inches.' 

And  the  shoes !  Coarse,  broad-soled,  low-heeled  "  gunboats,"  as  we 
afterward  learned  to  call  them  —  what  a  time  there  was  getting  into 
them.  Here  came  one  fellow  down  the  street  with  shoes  so  big  that 
they  could  scarcely  be  kept  on  his  feet,  while  over  yonder  another 
tugged  and  pulled  and  kicked  himself  red  in  the  face  over  a  pair  that 
would  not  go  on.  But  by  trading  off,  the  large  men  gradually  got  the 
large  garments  and  the  little  men  the  small,  so  that  in  a  few  days  we 
were  all  pretty  well  suited. 

I  remember  hearing  about  one  poor  fellow,  in  another  company,  a 
great,  strapping  six-footer,  who  could  not  be  suited.  The  largest 
shoe  furnished  by  the  government  was  quite  too  small.  The  giant 
tried  his  best  to  force  his  foot  in,  but  in  vain.  His  comrades  gathered 
about  him,  and  laughed,  and  chaffed  him  unmercifully,  whereupon  he 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Why,  you  don't  think  they  are  all  boys  that  come  to  the  army,  do 
you?  A  man  like  me  needs  a  man's  shoe,  not  a  baby's." 

There  was  another  poor  fellow,  a  very  small  man,  who  had  received 
a  very  large  pair  of  shoes,  and  had  not  yet  been  able  to  effect  any 
exchange.  One  day  the  sergeant  was  drilling  the  compan}r  on  the 
facings  —  Right  face  !  Left  face  !  Right  about  face  !  —  and  of  course 
watched  his  men's  feet  closely,  to  see  that  they  went  through  the 
movements  promptly.  Observing  one  pair  of  feet  down  the  line  that 
never  budged  at  the  command,  the  sergeant,  with  drawn  sword, 
rushed  up  to  the  possessor  of  them,  and,  in  menacing  tones,  de- 
manded,— 

"What  do  you  mean  by  not  facing  about  when  I  tell  you?  I'll 
have  you  put  in  the  guard-house,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Why — I  —  did,  sergeant,"  said  the  trembling  recruit. 


FIRST  DAYS  IN,  CAMP.  41 

"  You  did  not,  sir.  Didn't  I  watch  your  feet  ?  They  never  moved 
an  inch." 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  the  man,  "  my  shoes  are  so  big  that  they  don't 
turn  when  I  do.  I  go  through  the  motions  on  the  inside  of  them !  " 

Although  Camp  Curtin  was  not  so  much  a  camp  of  instruction  as 
a  camp  of  equipment,  yet  once  we  had  received  our  arms  and  uniforms, 
we  were  all  eager  to  be  put  on  drill.  Even  before  we  had  received 
our  uniforms,  every  evening  we  had  some  little  drilling,  under 
command  of  Sergeant  Cummings,  who  had  been  out  in  the  three 
months'  service.  Clothed  in  citizens'  dress,  and  armed  with  such 
sticks  and  poles  as  we  could  pick  up,  we  must  have  presented  a  sorry 
appearance  on  parade.  Perhaps  the  most  comical  figure  in  the  line  was 
that  of  old  Simon  Malehorn,  who,  clothed  in  a  long  linen  duster,  high 
silk  hat,  blue  overalls,  and  loose  slippers,  was  forever  throwing  the 
line  into  confusion  by  breaking  rank,  and  running  back  to  find  his 
slipper,  which  he  had  lost  in  the  dust  somewhere,  and  happy  was  he 
if  some  one  of  the  boys  had  not  quietly  smuggled  it  into  his  pocket 
or  under  his  coat,  and  left  poor  Simon  to  finish  the  parade  in  his 
stocking-feet. 

Awkward  enough  in  the  drill  we  all  were,  to  be  sure.  Still, 
we  were  not  quite  so  stupid  as  a  certain  recruit,  of  whom  it  was 
related  that  the  drill  sergeant  had  to  take  him  aside  as  an  "  awkward 
squad  "  by  himself,  and  try  to  teach  him  how  to  "  mark  time."  But, 
alas,  the  poor  fellow  did  not  know  his  right  foot  from  his  left,  and  con- 
sequently could  not  follow  the  order,  "  Left !  Left ! "  until  the 
sergeant,  driven  almost  to  desperation,  lit  on  the  happy  expedient  of 
tying  a  wisp  of  straw  on  one  foot,  and  a  similar  wisp  of  hay  on  the 
other,  and  then  put  the  command  in  a  somewhat  agricultural  shape  — 
"Hay  foot,  Straw  foot !  Hay  foot,  Straw  foot!  "  —  whereupon,  it  is 
said,  he  did  quite  well.  For  if  he  did  not  know  his  left  foot  from  his 
right,  he  at  least  could  tell  hay  from  straw. 


42  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

One  good  effect  of  our  having  been  detained  in  Camp  Curtin  for 
several  weeks  was,  that  we  thus  had  the  opportunity  of  forming  the 
acquaintance  of  the  other  nine  companies  with  which  we  were  to  be 
joined  in  one  common  regimental  organization.  Some  of  these  came 
from  the  western,  and  some  from  the  eastern  part  of  the  state ;  some 
were  from  the  city,  some  from  inland  towns  and  small  villages, 
and  some  from  the  wild,  lumber  regions.  Every  rank,  class,  and  pro- 
fession seemed  to  be  represented.  There  were  clerks,  farmers,  stu- 
dents, railroad  men,  iron,  workers,  lumbermen.  At  first,  we  were  all 
strangers  to  one  another.  The  different  companies,  having  as  yet  no 
regimental  life  to  bind  them  together  as  a  unit,  naturally  regarded 
each  other  as  foreigners  rather  than  as  members  of  the  same  organi- 
zation. In  consequence  of  this,  there  was  no  little  rivalry  between 
company  and  company,  together  with  no  end  of  friendly  chaffing  and 
lively  banter,  especially  about  the  time  of  roll-call  in  the  evening. 
The  names  of  the  men  who  hailed  from  the  west  were  quite  strange, 
and  a  long-standing  source  of  amusement  to  the  boys  from  the  east, 
and  vice  versd.  When  the  orderly-sergeant  of  Company  I  called  the 
roll,  the  men  of  Company  B  would  pick  out  all  the  outlandish-.sound- 
ing  surnames,  and  make  all  manner  of  puns  on  them,  only  to  be  paid 
back  in  their  own  coin  by  similar  criticisms  of  their  roll.  Then  there 
were  certain  forms  of  expression  peculiar  to  the  different  sections  from 
which  the  men  came,  strange  idiomatic  usages  of  speech,  amounting  at 
times  to  the  most  pronounced  provincialisms,  which  were  a  long-con- 
tinued source  of  merriment.  Thus  the  Philadelphia  boys  made  all 
sport  of  the  boys  from  the  upper  tier  of  counties  because  they  said  "  I 
be  going  deown  to  teown,"  and  invariably  used  "  I  make  out  to  "  for 
"  I  am  going  to,"  or  "  I  intend  to."  Some  of  the  men,  it  was 
observed,  called  every  species  of  board,  no  matter  how  thin,  "  a 
plank "  ;  and  every  kind  of  stone,  no  matter  how  small,  "  a  rock." 
How  the  men  laughed  one  evening,  when  a  high  wind  came  up  and 


FIRST  DAYS  IN  CAMP. 


43 


blew  the  dust,  in  dense  clouds,  all  over  the  camp,  and  one  of  the 
western  boys  was  heard  to  declare  that  he  had  "  a  rock  in  his  eye  ! " 

Once  we  got  afield,  however,  there  was  developed  such  a  feeling  of 
regimental  unity  as  soon  obliterated  whatever  natural  antagonisms 
may  at  first  have  existed  between  the  different  companies.  Peculiari- 
ties of  speech,  of  course,  remained,  and  .  a  generous  and  wholesome 
rivalry  never  disappeared;  but  these  were  a  help  rather  than  a 
hindrance.  For  in  military,  as  in  all  social  life,  there  can  be  no  true 
unity  without  some  diversity  in  the  component  parts,  —  a  principle 
which  is  fully  recognized  in  our  national  motto,  "  E  pluribus  unum" 


CHAPTER  III. 

OX    TO    WASHINGTON. 

AFTER  two  weeks  in  that  miserable  camp  at  the  state  capital,  we 
were  ordered  to  Washington ;  and  into  Washington,  accordingly,  one 
sultry  September  morning,  we  marched,  after  a  day  and  a  night  in  the 
cars  on  the  way  thither.  Quite  proud  we  felt,  you  may  be  sure,  as  we 
tramped  up  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  with  our  new  silk  flags  flying,  the 
fifes  playing  "  Dixie,"  and  we  ten  little  drummer-boys  pounding  away, 
awkwardly  enough  no  doubt,  under  the  lead  of  a  white-haired  old  man, 
who  had  beaten  his  drum,  nearly  fifty  years  before,  under  Wellington, 
at  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  We  were  green,  raw  troops,  as  anybody 
could  tell  at  a  glance ;  for  we  were  fair  faced  yet,  and  carried  enor- 
mous knapsacks.  I  remember  passing  some  old  troops  somewhere 
near  Fourteenth  Street,  and  being  painfully  conscious  of  the  difference 
between  them  and  us.  They,  I  observed,  had  no  knapsacks  ;  a  gum 
blanket,  twisted  into  a  roll,  and  slung  carelessly  over  the  shoulder,  was 
all  the  luggage  they  carried.  Dark,  swarthy,  sinewy  men  they  were, 
with  torn- shoes  and  faded  uniforms,  but  with  an  air  of  self-possession 
and  endurance  that  came  only  of  experience  and  hardship.  They 
smiled  on  us  as  we  passed  by,  —  a  grim  smile,  of  half  pity  and  half 
contempt,  —  just  as  we,  in  our  turn,  learned  to  smile  on  other  new 
troops  a  year  or  twp  later. 

By  some  unpardonable  mistake,  instead  of  getting  into  camp  forth- 
with on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  whither  we  had  been  ordered  for 
duty  at  the  present,  we  were  marched  far  out  into  the  country,  under 

44 


ON  TO    WASHINGTON.  45 

a  merciless  sun,  that  soon  scorched  all  the  endurance  out  of  me.  It 
was  dusty ;  it  was  hot ;  there  was  no  water ;  my  knapsack  weighed  a 
ton.  So  that  when,  after  marching  some  seven  miles,  our  orders  were 
countermanded,  and  we  faced  about  to  return  to  the  city  again, 
I  thought  it  impossible  I  ever  should  reach  it.  My  feet  moved 
mechanically,  everything  along  the  road  was  in  a  misty  whirl ;  and 
when,  at  nightfall,  Andy  helped  me  into  the  barracks  near  the  Capitol, 
from  which  we  had  started  in  the  morning,  I  threw  myself,  or,  rather, 
perhaps,  fell  on  the  hard  floor,  and  was  soon  so  soundly  asleep  that 
Andy  could  not  rouse  me  for  my  cup  of  coffee  and  ration  of  bread. 

I  have  an  indistinct  recollection  of  being  taken  away  next  morning 
in  an  ambulance  to  some  hospital,  and  being  put  into  a  clean,  white 
cot.  After  which,  for  days,  all  consciousness  left  me,  and  all  was 
blank  before  me,  save  only  that,  in  misty  intervals,  I  saw  the  kind 
faces  and  heard  the  subdued  voices  of  Sisters  of  Mercy,  —  voices  that 
spoke  to  me  from  far  away,  and  hands  that  reached  out  to  me  from  the 
other  side  of  an  impassable  gulf. 

Nursed  by  their  tender  care  back  to  returning  strength,  no  sooner 
was  I  able  to  stand  on  my  feet  once  more  than,  against  their  solemn 
protest,  I  asked  for  my  knapsack  and  drum,  and  insisted  on  setting 
out  forthwith  in  quest  of  my  regiment,  which  I  found  had  meanwhile 
been  scattered  by  companies  about  the  city,  my  own  company  and 
another  having  been  assigned  to  duty  at  "  Soldiers'  Home,"  the  Presi- 
dent's summer  residence.  Although  it  was  but  a  distance  of  three 
miles,  or  thereabouts,  and  although  I  started  out  in  search  of  "  Sol- 
diers' Home  "  at  noon,  so  conflicting  were  the  directions  given  me  by 
the  various  persons  of  whom  I  asked  the  road,  that  it  was  nightfall 
before  I  reached  it.  Coming  then,  at  the  hour  of  dusk,  to  a  gateway 
leading  apparently  into  some  park  or  pleasure  ground,  and  being 
informed  by  the  porter  at  the  gate  that  this  was  "Soldiers'  Home,"  I 
walked  about  among  the  trees,  in  the  growing  darkness,  in  search  of 


46  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

the  camp  of  Company  D,  when,  just  as  I  had  crossed  a  fence,  a  chal- 
lenge rang  out,  — 

"  Halt !     Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  A  friend." 

"  Advance,  friend,  and  give  the  countersign  !  " 

"  Hello,  Elias  !  "  said  I,  peering  through  the  bushes,  "is  that  you?" 

"  That  isn't  the  countersign,  friend.  You'd  better  give  the  coun- 
tersign, or  you're  a  dead  man  !  " 

Saying  which,  Elias  sprang  back  in  true  Zouave  style,  with  his 
bayonet  fixed  and  ready  for  a  lunge  at  me. 

"  Now,  Elias,"  said  I,  "  you  know  me  just  as  well  as  I  know 
myself,  and  you  know  I  haven't  the  countersign  ;  and  if  you're  going 
to  kill  me,  why  don't  stand  there  crouching  like  a  cat  ready  to  spring 
on  a  mouse,  but  up  and  at  it  like  a  man.  Don't  keep  me  here  in-  such 
dreadful  suspense." 

"  Well,  friend  without  the  countersign,  I'll  call  up  the  corporal,  and 
he  may  kill  you, — you're  a  dead  man,  any  way!"  Then  he  sang 
out,  - 

"Corporal  of  the  guard,  post  number  three  !  " 

From  post  to  post  it  rang  along  the  line,  now  shrill  and  high,  now 
deep  and  low :  "  Corporal  of  the  guard,  post  number  three  !  "  "  Cor- 
poral of  the  guard,  post  number  three  !  " 

Upon  which  up  comes  the  corporal  of  the  guard,  on  a  full  trot, 
with  his  gun  at  a  right-shoulder  shift,  and  saying,  — 

"  Well,  what's  up  ?  " 

"  Man  trying  to  break  my  guard." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Why  there,  beside  that  bush." 

"  Come  along,  you  there ;  you'll  be  shot  for  a  spy,  to-morrow 
morning  at  nine  o'clock." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Corporal,  I'm  ready." 


ON  TO    WASHINGTON.  47 

Now  all  this  was  fine  sport ;  for  Corporal  Harter  and  Elias  were 
both  of  my  company,  and  knew  me  quite  as  well  as  I  knew  them ;  but 
they  were  bent  on  having  a  little  fun  at  my  expense,  and  the  corporal 
had  marched  me  off  some  distance  toward  headquarters,  beyond  the 
ravine,  when  again  the  call  rang  along  the  line,  — 

"  Corporal  of  the  guard,  post  number  three  !  "  "  Corporal  of  the 
guard,  post  number  three  !  " 

Back  the  corporal  trotted  me  to  Elias. 

"  Well,  what  in  the  mischief  's  up  now  ?  " 

"  Another  fellow  trying  to  break  my  guard,  corporal." 

"  Well,  where  is  he  ?  Trot  him  out !  We'll  have  a  grand  exe- 
cution in  the  morning !  The  more  the  merrier,  you  know ;  and 
'  Long  live  the  Union  ! ' : 

"  I'm  sorry,  corporal,  but  the  fact  is  I  killed  this  chap  myself.  I 
caught  him  trying  to  climb  over  the  gate  there,  and  he  wouldn't  stop 
nor  give  the  countersign,  and  so  I  up  and  at  him,  and  ran  my  bayonet 
through  him,  and  there  he  is  !  " 

And  sure  enough,  there  he  was,  —  a  big,  fat  'possum  ! 

"  All  right,  Elias ;  you're  a  brave  soldier.  I'll  speak  to  the  colonel 
about  this,  and  you  shall  have  two  stripes  on  your  sleeve  one  of 
these  days." 

And  so,  with  the  'possum  by  the  tail  and  me  by  the  shoulder,  he 
marched  us  off  to  headquarters,  where,  the  'possum  being  thrown 
down  on  the  ground,  and  I  handed  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
captain,  it  was  ordered  that,  — 

"  This  young  man  should  be  taken  down  to  Andy's  tent,  and  a 
supper  cooked,  and  a  bed  made  for  him  there  ;  and  that  henceforth  and 
hereafter  he  should  beat  reveille  at  daybreak,  retreat  at  sundown,  tat- 
too at  nine  P.M.,  and  lights  out  a  half  hour  later." 

Nothing,  however,  was  said  about  the  execution  of  spies  in  the 
morning,  although  it  was  duly  ordained  that  the  'possum,  poor  thing, 
should  be  roasted  for  dinner  the  next  day. 


48  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

Never  was  there  a  more  pleasant  camp  than  ours,  —  there  on  that 
green  hillside,  across  the  ravine  from  the  President's  summer  resi- 

O 

deuce.  We  had  light  guard  duty  to  do,  and  that  of  a  kind  we 
esteemed  a  most  high  honor;  for  it  was  no  less  than  that  of  being 
special  guards  for  President  Lincoln.  But  the  good  President,  we 
were  told,  although  he  loved  his  soldiers  as  his  own  children,  did  not 
like  being  guarded.  Often  did  I  see  him  enter  his  carriage  before  the 
hour  appointed  for  his  morning  departure  for  the  White  House,  and 
drive  away  in  haste,  as  if  to  escape  from  the  irksome  escort  of  a  dozen 
cavalrymen,  whose  duty  it  was  to  guard  his  carriage  between  our  camp 
and  the  city.  Then  when  the  escort  rode  up  to  the  door,  some  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes  later,  and  found  that  the  carriage  had  already  gone, 
wasn't  there  a  clattering  of  hoofs  and  a  rattling  of  scabbards  as  they 
dashed  out  past  the  gate,  and  down  the  road  to  overtake  the  great  and 
good  President,  in  whose  heart  was  "charity  for  all,  and  malice 
toward  none ! " 

Boy  as  I  was,  I  could  not  but  notice  how  pale  and  haggard 
the  President  looked  as  he  entered  his  carriage  in  the  morning, 
or  stepped  down  from  it  in  the  evening,  after  a  weary  day's  work  in 
the  city  ;  and  no  wonder,  either,  for  those  September  days  of  1862 
were  the  dark,  perhaps  the  darkest,  days  of  the  war.  Many  a  mark  of 
favor  and  kindness  did  we  receive  from  the  President's  family.  Deli- 
cacies, such  as  we  were  strangers  to  then,  and  would  be  for  a  long 
time  to  come,  found  their  way  from  Mrs.  Lincoln's  hand  to  our  camp 
on  the  green  hillside ;  while  little  Tad,  the  President's  son,  was  a  great 
favorite  with  the  boys,  fond  of  the  camp,  and  delighted  with  the  drill. 

One  night,  when  all  but  the  guards  on  their  posts  were  wrapped 
in  greatcoats  and  sound  asleep  in  the  tents,  I  felt  some  one  shake  me 
roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and  call,  — 

"  Harry !  Harry  !  Get  up  quick,  and  beat  the  long  roll !  We're 
going  to  be  attacked.  Quick,  now !  " 


ON  TO    WASHINGTON.  49 

Groping  about  in  the  dark  for  my  drum  and  sticks,  I  stepped  out 
into  the  company  street  and  beat  the  loud  alarm,  which,  waking  the 
echoes,  brought  the  boys  out  of  their  tents  in  double-quick  time,  and 
set  the  whole  camp  in  an  uproar. 

"  What's  up,  fellows  ?  " 

"  Fall  in,  Company  D  !  "  shouted  the  orderly. 

"  Fall  in,  men,"  shouted  the  captain  ;  "  we're  going  to  be  attacked 
at  once ! " 

Amid  the  confusion  of  so  sudden  a  summons  at  midnight,  there 
was  some  lively  scrambling  for  guns,  bayonets,  cartridge-boxes,  and 
clothes. 

"  I  say,  Bill,  you've  got  my  coat  on  !  " 

"  Where's  my  cap  ?  " 

"  Andy,  you  scamp,  you've  got  my  shoes  !  " 

"  Fall  in,  men,  quick  ;  no  time  to  look  after  shoes  now.  Take  your 
arms  and  fall  in." 

And  so,  some  shoeless,  others  hatless,  and  all  only  half  dressed,  we 
formed  in  line  and  marched  out,  and  down  the  road  at  double-quick, 
for  a  mile,  then  halted.  Pickets  were  thrown  out,  an  advance  of  the 
whole  line  through  the  woods  was  made,  among  tangled  bushes  and 
briers,  and  through  marshes,  until,  as  the  first  streaks  of  early  dawn  were 
shooting  up  in  the  eastern  sky,  our  orders  were  countermanded,  and 
we  marched  back  to  camp,  to  find  —  that  the  whole  thing  was  a  ruse, 
planned  by  some  of  the  officers  for  the  purpose  of  testing  our  readi- 
ness for  work  at  any  hour.  After  that  we  slept  with  our  shoes  on. 

But  poor  old  Peter  Blank,  —  a  man  who  should  never  have  enlisted, 
for  he  was  as  afraid  of  a  gun  as  Robinson  Crusoe's  man  Friday, — poor 
old  Peter  was  the  butt  for  many  a  joke  the  next  day.  For  amid  the 
night's  confusion,  and  in  the  immediate  prospect,  as  he  supposed,  of  a 
deadly  encounter  with  the  enemy,  so  alarmed  did  he  become  that  he 
at  onoe  fell  to  —  praying !  Out  of  consideration  for  his  years  and 


50  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

piety,  the  captain  had  permitted  him  to  remain  behind,  as  a  guard  for 
the  camp  in  our  absence,  in  which  capacity  he  did  excellent  service, 
excellent  service  !  But  oh,  when  we  sat  about  our  fires  the  next 
morning,  frying  our  steaks  and  cooking  our  coffee,  poor  Peter  was  the 
butt  of  all  the  fun,  and  was  cruelly  described  by  the  wag  of  the 
company  as  "  the  man  that  had  a  brave  heart,  but  a  most  cowardly 
pair  of  legs  !  " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

OUR   FIRST   WINTER   QUARTERS. 

"  WELL,  fellows,  I  tell  you  what,  I've  heard  a  good  deal  about  the 
balmy  breezes  and  sunny  skies  of  old  Virginny,  but  if  this  is  a  speci- 
men of  the  sort  of  weather  they  have  in  these  parts,  I,  for  one,  move 
we  'right-about  face,'  and  march  home." 

So  saying,  Phil  Hammer  got  up  from  under  the  scrub  pine,  where 
he  had  made  his  bed  for  the  night,  shaking  the  snow  from  his  blanket 
and  the  cape  of  his  overcoat,  while  a  loud  "  Ha,  ha !  "  and  an  oft 
repeated  "  What  do  you  think  of  this,  boys  ?  "  rang  along  the  hillside 
on  which  we  had  found  our  first  camping-place  on  "  Old  Virginia's 
Shore." 

The  weather  had  played  us  a  most  deceptive  and  unpleasant  trick. 
We  had  landed  the  day  before,  as  my  journal  says,  at  "  Belle  Plains,  at 
a  place  called  Platt's  Landing,"  having  been  brought  down  from 
Washington  on  the  steamer  "  Louisiana  "  ;  had  marched  some  three  or 
four  miles  inland,  in  the  direction  of  Falmouth,  and  had  halted  and 
camped  for  the  night  in  a  thick  undergrowth  of  scrub  pine  and  cedar. 
The  day  of  our  landing  was  remarkably  fair.  The  skies  were  so  bright, 
the  air  was  so  soft  and  balmy,  that  we  were  rejoiced  to  find  what  a 
pleasant  country  it  was  we  were  getting  into,  to  be  sure  ;  but  the  next 
morning,  when  we  drummer-boys  woke  the  men  with  our  loud  reveille, 
we  were  all  of  Phil's  opinion,  that  the  sunny  skies  and  balmy  breezes 
of  this  new  land  were  all  a  miserable  fiction.  For  as  man  after  man 
opened  his  eyes  at  the  loud  roll  of  our  drums,  and  the  shout  of  the 
orderly,  "  Fall  in,  Company  D,  for  roll-call !  "  he  found  himself  cov- 

51 


52  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 

ered  with  four  inches  of  snow,  and  more  coming  down.  Fortunately, 
the  bushes  had  afforded  us  some  protection.  They  were  so  numerous 
and  so  thick  that  one  could  scarcely  see  twenty  rods  ahead  of  him,  and 
with  their  great,  overhanging  branches  had  kindly  kept  the  falling 
snow  out  of  our  faces,  at  least  while  we  slept. 

And  now  began  a  busy  time.  We  were  to  build  winter  quarters  — 
a  work  for  which  we  were  but  poorly  prepared,  either  by  nature  or  by 
circumstance.  Take  any  body  of  men  out  of  civilized  life,  put  them 
into  the  woods,  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  they  are  generally  as 
helpless  as  children.  As  for  ourselves,  we  were  indeed  "  Babes  in  the 
Wood."  At  least  half  the  regiment  knew  nothing  of  woodcraft, 
having  never  been  accustomed  to  the  use  of  the  axe.  It  was  a  laugh- 
able sight  to  see  some  of  the  men  from  the  city  try  to  cut  down  a 
tree  !  Besides,  we  were  poorly  equipped.-  Axes  were  scarce,  and 
worth  almost  their  weight  in  gold.  We  had  no  "shelter  tents." 
Most  of  us  had  "  poncho  "  blankets ;  that  is  to  say,  a  piece  of  oilcloth 
about  five  feet  by  four,  with  a  slit  in  the  middle.  But  we  found  our 
ponchos  very  poor  coverings  for  our  cabins ;  for  the  rain  just  would 
run  down  through  that  unfortunate  hole  in  the  middle ;  and  then,  too, 
the  men  needed  their  oilcloths  when  they  went  on  picket,  for  which 
purpose  they  had  been  particularly  intended.  This  circumstance  gave 
rise  to  frequent  discussion  that  day :  whether  to  use  the  poncho  as  a 
covering  for  the  cabin,  and  get  soaked  on  picket,  or  to  save  the  poncho 
for  picket,  and  cover  the  cabin  with  brushwood  and  clay?  Some 
messes l  chose  the  one  alternative ;  others,  the  other ;  and  as  the  result 
of  this  preference,  together  with  our  ignorance  of  woodcraft  and  the 
scarcity  of  axes,  we  produced  on  that  hillside  the  oddest  looking 
winter  quarters  a  regiment  ever  built!  Such  an  agglomeration  of 
cabins  was  never  seen  before  nor  since.  I  am  positive  no  two  cabins 
on  all  that  hillside  had  the  slightest  resemblance  to  each  other. 

1  A  "mess"  is  a  number  of  men  who  eat  together. 


OUR  FIRST   WINTER    QUARTERS. 


53 


There,  for  instance,  was  a  mess  over  in  Company  A,  composed  of 
men  from  the  city.  They  had  one  kind  of  cabin,  an  immense  square 
structure  of  pine  logs,  about  seven  feet  high,  and  covered  over  the  top, 
first  with  brushwood,  and  then  coated  so  heavily  with  clay  that  I  am 


IN   WINTER  QUARTERS. 

certain  the  roof  must  have  been  two  feet  thick  at  the  least.  It  was 
hardly  finished  before  some  wag  had  nicknamed  it  "  Fortress  Monroe." 
Then  there  was  Ike  Zellers,  of  our  own  company ;  he  invented 
another  style  of  architecture,  or  perhaps  I  should  rather  say  he  bor- 
rowed it  from  the  Indians.  Ike  would  have  none  of  your  flat-roofed 
concerns;  he  would  build  a  wigwam.  And  so,  marking  out  a  huge 


54  RECOLLECTIONS   OF-  A    DRUMMER   BOY. 

circle,  in  the  centre  of  which  he  erected  a  pole,  and  around  the  pole  a 
great  number  of  smaller  poles,  with  one  end  on  the  circle  and  the 
other  end  meeting  in  the  common  apex,  covering  this  with  brush,  and 
the  brush  with  clay,  he  made  for  himself  a  house  that  was  quite  warm, 
indeed,  but  one  so  fearfully  gloomy,  that  within  it  was  as  dark  at  noon 
as  at  midnight.  Ominous  sounds  came  afterward  from  the  dark 
recesses  of  "  The  Wigwam ;  "  for  we  were  a  "  skirmish  regiment," 
and  Ike  was  our  bugler,  and  the  way  he  tooted  all  day  long,  "Deploy 
to  the  right  and  left,"  "  Rally  by  fours,"  and  "  Rally  by  platoons,"  was 
suggestive  of  things  yet  to  come. 

Then  there  was  my  own  tent,  or  cabin,  if  indeed  I  may  dignify  it 
with  the  name  of  either ;  for  it  was  a  cross  between  a  house  and  a 
cave.  Andy  and  I  thought  we  would  follow  the  advice  of  the  Irish- 
man, who,  in  order  to  raise  his  roof  higher,  dug  his  cellar  deeper.  We 
resolved  to  dig  down  some  three  feet;  "and  then,  Harry,  we'll  log  her 
up  about  two  feet  high,  cover  her  with  ponchos,  and  we'll  have  the 
finest  cabin  in  the  row  !  "  It  took  us  about  three  days  to  accomplish 
so  stupendous  an  undertaking,  during  which  time  we  slept  at  night 
under  the  bushes  as  best  we  could,  and  when  our  work  was  done,  we 
moved  in  with  great  satisfaction.  I  remember  the  door  of  our  house 
was  a  mystery  to  all  visitors,  as,  indeed,  it  was  to  ourselves  until  we 
"  got  the  hang  of  it,"  as  Andy  said.  It  was  a  hole  about  two  feet 
square,  cut  through  one  end  of  the  log  part  of  the  cabin,  and  through 
it  you  had  to  crawl  as  best  you  could.  If  you  put  one  leg  in  first, 
then  the  head,  and  then  drew  in  the  other  leg  after  you,  you  were  all 
right ;  but  if,  as  visitors  generally  did,  you  put  in  your  head  first,  you 
were  obliged  to  crawl  in  on  all  fours  in  a  most  ungraceful  and  undig- 
nified fashion. 

That  was  a  queer-looking  camp  all  through.  If  you  went  up  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  where  the  colonel  had  his  quarters,  and  looked 
down,  a  strange  sight  met  your  eyes.  By  the  time  the  next  winter 


'OUR   FIRST    WINTER    QUARTERS.  55 

came,  however,  we  had  learned  how  to  swing  an  axe,  and  we  built  our- 
selves winter  quarters  that  reflected  no  little  credit  on  our  skill  as 
experienced  woodsmen.  The  last  cabin  we  built  —  it  was  down  in 
front  of  Petersburg  —  was  a  model  of  comfort  and  convenience:  ten 
feet  long  by  six  wide  and  five  high,  made  of  clean  pine  logs  straight  as 
an  arrow,  and  covered  with  shelter  tents  ;  a  chimney  at  one  end,  and 
a  comfortable  bunk  at  the  other ;  the  inside  walls  covered  with  clean 
oat-bags,  and  the  gable  ends  papered  with  pictures  cut  from  illustrated 
papers ;  a  mantelpiece,-  a  table,  a  stool ;  and  we  were  putting  down  a 
floor  of  pine  boards,  too,  one  day  toward  the  close  of  winter,  when  the 
surgeon  came  by,  and  looking  in,  said,  — 

"  No  time  to  drive  nails  now,  boys ;  we  have  orders  to  move  !  "  But 
Andy  said,  — 

"  Pound  away,  Harry,  pound  away ;  we'll  see  how  it  looks,  anyhow, 
before  we  go  !  " 

I  remember  an  amusing  occurrence  in  connection  with  the  building 
of  our  winter  quarters.  I  had  gone  over  to  see  some  of  the  boys  of 
our  company  one  evening,  and  found  they  had  "  logged  up  "  their  tent 
about  four  feet  high,  and  stretched  a  poncho  over  it  to  keep  the  snow 
out,  and  were  sitting  before  a  fire  they  had  built  in  a  chimney-place  at 
one  end.  The  chimney  was  built  up  only  as  high  as  the  log  walls 
reached,  the  intention  being  to  "  catstick  and  daub  "it  afterwards  to  a 
sufficient  height.  The  mess  had  just  got  a  box  from  home,  and  some 
one  had  hung  nearl3r  two  yards  of  sausage  on  a  stick  across  the  top  of 
the  chimney,  "to  smoke."  And  there,  on  a  log  rolled  up  in  front  of 
the  fire,  I  found  Jimmy  Lucas  and  Sam  Ruhl  sitting  smoking  their 
pipes,  and  glancing  up  the  chimney  between  whiffs  every  now  and 
then,  to  see  that  the  sausage  was  safe.  Sitting  down  between  them,  I 
watched  the  cheery  glow  of  the  fire,  and  we  fell  to  talking,  now  about 
the  jolly  times  they  were  having  at  home  at  the  holiday  season,  and 
again  about  the  progress  of  our  cabin-building,  while  every  now  and 


56  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

then  Jimmy  would  peep  up  the  chimney  on  one  side,  and  shortly  after 
Sam  would  squint  up  on  the  other.  After  sitting  thus  for  half  an  hour 
or  so,  all  of  a  sudden,  Sam,  looking  up  the  chimney,  jumped  off  the 
log,  clapped  his  hands  together,  and  shouted,  — 

"  Jim,  it's  gone  !  " 

Gone  it  was ;  and  you  might  as  well  look  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack 
as  search  for  two  yards  of  sausage  among  troops  building  winter  quar- 
ters on  short  rations  ! 

One  evening  Andy  and  I  were  going  to  have  a  feast,  consisting  in 
the  main  of  a  huge  dish  of  apple  fritters.  We  bought  the  flour  and 
the  apples  of  the  sutler  at  enormous  figures,  for  we  were  so  tired 
of  the  endless  monotony  of  bacon,  beef,  and  bean  soup,  that  we  were 
bent  on  having  a  glorious  supper,  cost  or  no  cost.  We  had  a  rather 
small  chimney-place,  in  which  Andy  was  superintending  the  heating  of 
a  mess-pan  half  full  of  lard,  while  I  was  busying  myself  with  the  flour, 
dough,  and  apples,  when,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  the  lard  took  fire 
and  flamed  up  the  chimney  with  a  roar  and  a  blaze  so  bright  that  it 
illuminated  the  whole  camp  from  end  to  end.  Unfortunately,  too,  for 
us,  four  of  our  companies  had  been  recruited  in  the  city,  and  most  of 
them  had  been  in  the  volunteer  fire  department,  in  which  service  they 
had  gained  an  experience,  useful  enough  to  them  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, but  most  disastrous  to  us. 

No  sooner  was  the  bright  blaze  seen  pouring  high  out  of  the  chim- 
ney-top of  our  modest  little  cabin,  than  at  least  a  half-dozen  fire  com- 
panies were  on  the  instant  organized  for  the  emergency.  The 
"  Humane,"  the  "  Fairmount,"  the  "  Good-will,"  with  their  imaginary 
engines  and  hose-carriages,  came  dashing  down  our  company  street 
with  shouts,  and  yells,  and  cheers.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment 
to  attach  the  imaginary  hose  to  imaginary  plugs,  plant  imaginary  lad- 
ders, tear  down  the  chimney  and  demolish  the  roof,  amid  a  flood  of 
sparks,  and  to  the  intense  delight  of  the  firemen,  but  to  our  utter  con- 


OUR  FIRST   WINTER    QUARTERS.  57 

sternation  and  grief.  It  took  us  days  to  repair  the  damage,  and  we 
went  to  bed  with  some  of  our  neighbors,  after  a  scant  supper  of  hard- 
tack and  coffee. 

How  did  we  spend  our  time  in  winter  quarters,  do  you  ask  ?  Well, 
there  was  always  enough  to  do,  you  may  be  sure,  and  often  it  was 
work  of  the  very  hardest  sort.  Two  days  in  the  week  the  regiment 
went  out  on  picket,  and  while  there  got  but  little  sleep  and  suffered 
much  from  exposure.  When  they  were  not  on  picket,  all  the  men  not 
needed  for  camp  guard  had  to  drill.  It  was  nothing  but  drill,  drill, 
drill:  company  drill,  regimental  drill,  brigade  drill,  and  once  even 
division  drill.  Our  regiment,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  skirmish  regiment, 
and  the  skirmish  drill  is  no  light  work,  let  me  tell  you.  Many  an 
evening  the  men  came  in  more  dead  than  alive,  after  skirmishing  over 
the  country  for  miles  around,  all  the  afternoon.  Reveille  and  roll-call 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  guard  mount  at  nine,  company  drill 
from  ten  to  twelve,  regimental  drill  from  two  to  four,  dress  parade  at 
five,  tattoo  and  lights  out  at  nine  at  night,  with  continual  practice  on 
the  drum  for  us  drummer-boys,  —  so  our  time  passed  away. 


CHAPTER    V. 

A    GRAND   REVIEW. 

Ox  a  certain  day  near  the  beginning  of  April,  1863,  we  were 
ordered  to  prepare  for  a  grand  review  of  our  corps.  President  Lin- 
coln, Mrs.  Lincoln,  Master  Tad  Lincoln  (who  used  to  play  among  our 
tents  at  "  Soldiers  Home  "),  and  some  of  the  Cabinet  officers,  were 
coming  down  to  look  us  over  and  see  what  promise  we  gave  for  the 
campaign  soon  to  open. 

Those  who  have  never  seen  a  grand  review  of  well-drilled  troops  in 
the  field  have  never  seen  one  of  the  finest  and  most  inspiring  sights 
the  eyes  of  man  can  behold.  I  wish  I  could  impart  to  my  readers 
some  faint  idea  of  the  thrilling  scene  which  must  have  presented  itself 
to  the  eyes  of  the  beholders  when,  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day  of 
April,  1863,  our  gallant  First  Army  Corps,  leaving  its  camps  among 
the  hills,  assembled  on  a  wide,  extended  plain  for  the  inspection  of  our 
illustrious  visitors. 

As  regiment  after  regiment,  and  brigade  after  brigade,  came  march- 
ing out  from  the  surrounding  hills  and  ravines,  with  flags  gayly  flying, 
bands  and  drum  corps  making  such  music  as  was  enough  to  stir  the 
blood  in  the  heart  of  the  most  indifferent  to  a  quicker  pulse,  and  well- 
drilled  troops  that  marched  in  the  morning  sunlight  with  a  step  as 
steady  as  the  stroke  of  machinery,  —  ah  !  it  was  a  sight  to  be  seen  but 
once  in  a  century !  And  when  those  twenty  thousand  men  were  all  at 
last  in  line,  with  the  artillery  in  position  off  to  one  side  of  the  hill,  and 
ready  to  fire  their  salute,  it  seemed  well  worth  the  President's  while  to 
come  all  the  way  from  Washington  to  look  at  them. 

58 


A    GRAND  REVIEW.  61 

But  the  President  was  a  long,  long  time  in  coming.  The  sun, 
mounting  fast  toward  noon,  began  to  be  insufferably  hot.  One  hour, 
two  hours,  three  hours  were  passing  away,  when,  at  last,  far  off 
through  a  defile  between  the  hills,  we  caught  sight  of  a  great  cloud  of 
dust. 

"  Fall  in,  men  !  "  for  now  here  they  come,  sure  enough.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lincoln  in  a  carriage,  escorted  by  a  body  of  cavalry  and  groups 
of  officers,  and  at  the  head  of  the  cavalcade  Master  Tad,  big  with 
importance,  mounted  on  a  pony,  and  having  for  his  especial  escort  a 
boy  orderly,  dressed  in  a  cavalry-man's  uniform,  and  mounted  on 
another  pony !  And  the  two  little  fellows,  scarce  restraining  their 
boyish  delight,  outride  the  company,  and  come  on  the  field  in  a  cloud 
of  dust  and  at  a  full  gallop,  —  little  Tad  shouting  to  the  men,  at  the 
top  of  his  voice :  "  Make  way,  men !  Make  way,  men !  Father's 
a-corning  !  Father's  a-coming  !  " 

Then  the  artillery  breaks  forth  into  a  thundering  salute,  that  wakes 
the  echoes  among  the  hills  and  sets  the  air  to  shivering  and  quaking 
about  your  ears,  as  the  cavalcade  gallops  down  the  long  line,  and  regi- 
mental standards  droop  in  greeting,  and  bands  and  drum-corps,  one 
after  another,  strike  up  "Hail  to  the  Chief,"  till  they  are  all  playing  at 
once  in  a  grand  chorus  that  makes  the  hills  ring  as  they  never  rang 
before. 

But  all  this  is  only  a  flourish  by  way  of  prelude.  The  real  beauty 
of  the  review  is  yet  to  come,  and  can  be  seen  only  when  the  cavalcade, 
having  galloped  down  the  line  in  front  and  up  again  on  the  rear,  has 
taken  its  stand  out  yonder,  immediately  in  front  of  the  middle  of  the 
line,  and  the  order  is  given  to  "pass  in  review." 

Notice  now,  how,  by  one  swift  and  dexterous  movement,  as  the 
officers  step  out  and  give  the  command,  that  long  line  is  broken  into 
platoons  of  exactly  equal  length;  how,  straight  as  an  arrow,  each 
platoon  is  dressed ;  how  the  feet  of  the  men  all  move  together,  and 


62  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

their  guns,  flashing  in  the  sun,  have  the  same  inclination.  Observe 
particularly  how,  when  they  come  to  wheel  off,  there  is  no  bend  in  the 
line,  but  they  wheel  as  if  the  whole  platoon  were  a  ramrod  made  to 
revolve  about  its  one  end  through  a  quarter-circle  ;  and  now  that  they 
are  marching  thus  down  the  field  and  past  the  President,  what  a  gran- 
deur there  is  in  the  steady  step  and  onward  sweep  of  that  column  of 
twenty  thousand  boys  in  blue  ! 

But  once  we  have  passed  the  President  and  gained  the  other  end  of 
the  field,  it  is  not  nearly  so  fine.  For  we  must  needs  finish  the  review 
in  a  double  quick,  just  by  way  of  showing,  I  suppose,  what  we  could 
do  if  we  were  wanted  in  a  hurry,  —  as  indeed  we  shall  be,  not  more 
than  sixty  days  hence  !  Away  we  go,  then,  on  a  dead  run  off  the 
field,  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  amid  a  clatter  of  bayonet  scabbards,  till, 
hid  behind  the  hills,  we  come  to  a  more  sober  pace,  and  march  into 
camp,  just  as  tired  as  tired  can  be. 

How  strangely  things  turn  out,  and  what  singular  coincidences 
there  are.  The  boy  orderly  whom  I  have  here  mentioned  as  accom- 
panying little  Tad  Lincoln  at  this  grand  review,  I  certainly  had  no 
reason  to  expect  ever  to  see  after  the  war  was  over,  or  even  to  learn 
his  name.  But  one  day,  a  few  years  ago,  while  in  camp  at  Gettysburg 
with  the  National  Guard  of  Pennsylvania,  in  the  capacity  of  chaplain 
of  the  Sixth  Regiment,  a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  William  W. 
Sweisfort  came  over  to  our  camp  with  a  company  of  visitors  from 
Philadelphia,  and  said  he  wanted  to  meet  me,  because  I  had  done  him 
the  honor  to  mention  him  in  my  book.  Said  he,  "  In  your  '  Recollec- 
tions '  you  speak  of  a  boy  orderly  accompanying  little  Tad  Lincoln  at 
the  review  of  the  First  Corps  near  Fredericksburg.  Well,  sir,  I  am 
that  boy  orderly.  I  was  very  young  then,  and  quite  small  for  my 
years,  and,  as  you  see,  I  have  not  grown  very  tall  to  this  day,  being 
short  of  stature,  like  Zaccheus  of  old.  I  was  detailed  to  take  charge 
of  'little  Tad'  during  that  visit  of  President  Lincoln,  and  was  respon- 


A    GRAND  REVIEW. 


63 


sible  to  headquarters  for  his  safety.'  And  I  tell  you  I  had  a  time  of 
it.  That  boy  was  a  lively  boy.  He  kept  me  moving.  He  rode  his 
horse  half  dead,  up  and  down,  hither  and  yon,  into  every  camp,  put- 
ting his  nose  into  everything,  investigated  every  artillery  park ; 
inspected  every  provision  train,  hardly  slept  at  night.  I  believe  I  was 
just  a  little  glad  when  his  visit  was  at  an  end,  and  I  turned  him  over 
to  his  father  in  good  order." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  PICKET  ALONG  THE   RAPPAHANNOCK. 

"  HARRY,  wouldn't  you  like  to  go  out  on  picket  with  us  to-mor- 
row ?  The  weather  is  pleasant,  and  I'd  like  to  have  you  for  company, 
for  time  hangs  rather  heavy  on  a  fellow's  hands  out  there ;  and, 
besides,  I  want  you  to  help  me  with  my  Latin." 

Andy  was  a  studious  fellow,  and  carried  on  his  studies  with  greater 
or  less  regularity  during  our  whole  time  of  service.  Of  course  we  had 
no  books,  except  a  pocket  copy  of  "  Caesar  "  ;  but  to  make  up  for  the 
deficiency,  particularly  of  a  grammar,  I  had  written  out  the  declen- 
sions of  the  nouns  and  the  conjugations  of  the  verbs  on  odd  scraps  of 
paper,  which  Andy  had  gathered  up  and  carried  in  a  roll  in  his  breast 
pocket,  and  many  were  the  lessons  we  had  together  under  the  canvas 
or  beneath  the  sighing  branches  of  the  pines. 

"  Well,  old  boy,  I'd  like  to  go  along  first-rate ;  but  we  must  get 
permission  of  the  adjutant  first." 

Having  secured  the  adjutant's  consent,  and  provided  myself  with  a 
gun  and  accoutrements,  the  next  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  I  set  out,  in 
company  with  a  body  of  some  several  hundred  men  of  the  regiment. 
We  were  to  be  absent  from  camp  for  two  days,  at  the  expiration  of 
which  time  we  were  to  be  relieved  by  the  next  detail. 

It  was  pleasant  April  weather,  for  the  season  was  well  advanced. 
Our  route  lay  straight  over  the  hills  and  through  the  ravines,  for  there 
were  no  roads,  fences,  nor  fields.  But  few  houses  were  to  be  seen,  and 
from  these  the  inhabitants  had,  of  course,  long  since  disappeared.  At 
one  of  these  few  remaining  houses,  situated  some  three  hundred  yards 
from  the  river's  edge,  our  advance  picket  reserve  was  established,  the 

64 


ON  PICKET  ALONG   THE  R  AP  PAH  ANNO  CK.  65 

captain  in  command  making  his  headquarters  in  the  once  beautiful 
grounds  of  the  mansion,  long  since  deserted  and  left  empty  by  its 
former  occupants.  The  place  had  a  very  distressing  air  of  neglect. 
The  beautiful  lawn  in  front,  where  merry  children  had  no  doubt 
played  and  romped  in  years  gone  by,  was  overgrown  with  weeds.  The 
large  and  commodious  porch,  where  in  other  days  the  family  gathered 
in  the  evening  time  and  talked  and  sang,  while  the  river  flowed  peace- 
fully by,  was  now  abandoned  to  the  spiders  and  their  webs.  The 
whole  house  was  pitifully  forlorn  looking,  as  if  wondering  why  the 
family  did  not  come  back  to  fill  its  spacious  halls  with  life  and  mirth. 
Even  the  colored  people  had  left  their  quarters.  There  was  not  a  soul 
anywhere  about. 

We  were  not  permitted  either  to  enter  the  house  or  to  do  any 
damage  to  the  property.  Pitching  our  shelter-tents  under  the  out- 
spreading branches  of  the  great  elms  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  building  our  fires  back  of  a  hill  in  the  rear  to  cook  our  breakfast, 
we  awaited  our  turn  to  stand  guard  on  the  picket-line,  which  ran  close 
along  the  river's  edge. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  my  young  readers  to  know  more  particu- 
larly how  this  matter  of  standing  picket  is  arranged  and  conducted. 
When  a  body  of  men  numbering,  let  us  say,  for  the  sake  of  example, 
two  hundred  in  all,  go  out  on  picket,  the  detail  is  usually  divided  into 
two  equal  parts,  consisting  in  the  supposed  case  of  one  hundred  each. 
One  of  these  companies  of  a  hundred  goes  into  a  sort  of  camp  about 
a  half  mile  from  the  picket-line,  —  usually  in  a  woods  or  near  by  a 
spring,  if  one  can  be  found,  or  in  some  pleasant  ravine  among  the  hills, 
—  and  the  men  have  nothing  to  do  but  make  themselves  comfortable 
for  the  first  twenty-four  hours.  They  may  sleep  as  much  as  they  like, 
or  play  at  such  games  as  they  please,  only  they  must  not  go  away  any 
considerable  distance  from  the  post,  because  they  may  be  very  sud- 
denly wanted,  in  case  of  an  attack  on  the  advance  picket-line. 


66  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

The  other  band  of  one  hundred  takes  position  only  a  short  distance 
to  the  rear  of  the  line  where  the  pickets  pace  to  and  fro  on  their  beats, 
and  is  known  as  the  advance  picket-post.  It  is  under  the  charge  of  a 
captain  or  lieutenant,  and  is  divided  into  three  parts,  each  of  which  is 
called  a  "  relief,"  the  three  being  known  as  the  first,  the  second,  and 
the  third  relief,  respectively.  Each  of  these  is  under  the  charge  of  a 
non-commissioned  officer,  —  a  sergeant  or  corporal,  —  and  must  stand 
guard  in  succession,  two  hours  on  and  four  off,  day  and  night,  for  the 
first  twenty-four  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  time  the  reserve  one  hun- 
dred in  the  rear  march  up  and  relieve  the  whole  advance  picket-post, 
which  then  goes  to  the  rear,  throws  off  its  accoutrements,  stacks  its 
arms,  and  sleeps  till  it  can  sleep  no  more.  I  need  hardly  add  that  each 
picket  is  furnished  with  the  countersign,  which  is  regularly  changed 
every  day.  While  on  the  advance  picket-post  no  one  is  permitted  to 
sleep,  whether  on  duty  on  the  line  or  not,  and  to  sleep  on  the  'picket- 
line  is  death !  At  or  near  midnight  a  body  of  officers,  known  as  "•  The 
Grand  Rounds,"  goes  all  along  the  line,  examining  every  picket,  to  see 
that  "all  is  well." 

Andy  and  I  had  by  request  been-  put  together  on  the  second  relief, 
and  stood  guard  from  eight  to  ten  in  the  morning,  two  to  four  in  the 
afternoon,  and  eight  to  ten  and  two  to  four  at  night. 

It  was  growing  dark  as  we  sat  with  our  backs  against  the  old  elms 
on  the  lawn,  telling  stories,  singing  catches  of  songs,  or  discussing  the 
probabilities  of  the  summer  campaign,  when  the  call  rang  out  :  "  Fall 
in,  second  relief  !  " 

"  Come  on,  Harry ;  get  on  your  horse-hide  and  shooting-iron.  We 
have  a  nice  moonlight  night  for  it,  any  way." 

Our  line,  as  I  have  said,  ran  directly  along  the  river's  edge,  up  and 
down  which  Andy  and  I  paced  on  our  adjoining  beats,  each  of  us  hav- 
ing to  walk  about  a  hundred  yards,  when  we  turned  and  walked  back, 
with  gun  loaded  and  capped  and  at  a  right-shoulder  shift. 


ON  PICKET  ALONG    THE  RAPPAHANNOCK.  67 

The  night  was  beautiful.  A  full  round  moon  shone  out  from 
among  the  fleecy  clouds  overhead.  At  my  feet  was  the  pleasant  plash- 
ing of  the  river,  ever  gliding  on,  with  the  moonbeams  dancing  as  if  in 
sport  on  its  rippling  surface,  while  the  opposite  bank  was  hid  in  the 
deep,  solemn  shadows  made  by  the  overhanging  trees.  Yet  the 
shadows  were  not  so  deep  there  but  that  occasionally  I  could  catch 
glimpses  of  a  picket  silently  pacing  his  beat  on  the  south  side  of  the 
river,  as  I  was  pacing  mine  on  the  north,  with  bayonet  flashing  in  the 
patches  of  moonlight  as  he  passed  up  and  down.  I  fell  to  wondering, 
as  I  watched  him,  what  sort  of  man  he  was  ?  Young  or  old  ?  Had  he 
children  at  home,  may  be,  in  the  far-off  South  ?  Or  a  father  and 
mother?  Did  he  wish  this  cruel  war  was  over?  In  the  next  tight 
maybe  he'd  be  killed !  Then  I  fell  to  wondering  who  had  lived  in  that 
house  up  yonder,  and  what  kind  of  people  they  were.  Were  the  sous 
in  the  war?  And  the  daughters,  where  were  they?  and  would  they 
ever  come  back  again  and  set  up  their  household  gods  in  the  good  old 
place  once  more?  My  imagination  was  busy  trying  to  picture  the 
scenes  that  had  enlivened  the  old  plantation,  the  darkies  at  work  in 
the  fields,  and  the  — 

"  Hello,  Yank  !     We  can  lick  you  !." 

"  Beautiful  night,  Johnny,  isn't  it?" 

"Y-e-s,  lovely!" 

But  our  orders  are  to  hold  as  little  conversation  with  the  pickets 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  as  necessary,  and  so,  declining  any  fur- 
ther civilities,  I  resume  my  beat. 

"  Harry,  I'm  going  to  lie  down  here  at  the  upper  end  of  your  beat," 
says  the  sergeant  who  has  charge  of  our  relief.  "I  ain't  agoing  to 
sleep,  but  I'm  tired.  Every  time  you  come  up  to  this  end  of  your  beat, 
speak  to  me,  will  you  ?  for  I  might  fall  asleep." 

"  Certainly,  sergeant." 

The  first  time  I  speak  to  him,  the  second,  and  the  third,  he  answers 


68  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

readily  enough,  "  All  right,  Harry  "  ;  but  at  the  fourth  summons  he  is 
sound  asleep.  Sleep  on,  sergeant,  sleep  on  !  Your  slumbers  shall  not 
be  broken  by  me,  unless  the  "  Grand  Rounds  "  come  along,  for  whom 
I  must  keep  a  sharp  lookout,  lest  they  catch  you  napping  and  give  you 


IN  A  DANGEROUS  PAKT  OF  HIS  BEAT. 


a  pretty  court-martial !  But  Grand  Rounds  or  no,  you  shall  have  a 
little  sleep.  One  of  these  days  you,  and  many  more  of  us  besides,  will 
sleep  the  last  long  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  But  hark !  I  hear  the 
challenge  up  the  line  !  I  must  rouse  you,  after  all. 

"  Sergeant !     Sergeant !     Get  up  —  Grand  Rounds  !  " 


ON  PICKET  ALONG   THE  RAPPAHANNOCK.  69 

"  Halt !     Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  The  Grand  Rounds." 

"Advance,  officer  of  the  Grand  Rounds,  and  give  the  countersign." 

An  officer  steps  out  from  the  group  that  is  half  hidden  in  the 
shadow,  and  whispers  in  my  ear,  "Lafayette,"  when  the  whole  body 
silently  and  stealthily  passes  down  the  line. 

Relieved  at  ten  o'clock,  we  go  back  to  our  post  at  the  house,  and 
find  it  rather  hard  work  to  keep  our  eyes  open  from  ten  to  two  o'clock, 
but  sleep  is  out  of  the  question.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
second  relief  goes  out  again,  down  through  the  patch  of  meadow,  wet 
with  the  heavy  dew,  and  along  down  the  river  to  our  posts.  It  is 
nearly  three  o'clock,  and  Andy  and  I  are  standing  talking  in  low 
tones,  he  at  the  upper  end  of  his  beat  and  I  at  the  lower  end  of  mine, 
when  — 

Bang !  And  the  whistle  of  a  ball  is  heard  overhead  among  the 
branches.  Springing  forward  at  once  by  a  common  impulse,  we  get 
behind  the  shelter  of  a  tree,  run  out  our  rifles,  and  make  ready  to  fire. 

"You  watch  up  river,  Harry,"  whispers  Andy,  "and  I'll  watch 
down  ;  and  if  you  see  him  trying  to  handle  his  ramrod,  let  him  have 
it,  and  don't  miss  him." 

But  apparently  Johnny  is  in  no  hurry  to  load  up  again,  and  likes 
the  deep  shadow  of  his  tree  too  well  to  walk  his  beat  any  more,  for  we 
wait  impatiently  for  a  long  while  and  see  nothing  of  him.  By  and  by 
we  hear  him  calling  over,  —  "I  say,  Yank !  " 

"Well,  Johnny?" 

"  If  you  won't  shoot,  I  won't." 

"  Rather  late  in  the  morning  to  make  such  an  offer,  isn't  it  ?  Didn't 
you  shoot  just  now  ?  " 

"  You  see,  my  old  gun  went  off  by  accident." 

"  That's  a  likely  yarn  o'  yours,  Johnny !  " 

"  But  it's  an  honest  fact,  any  way." 


70  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A    DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  Well,  Johnny,  next  time  your  gun's  going  to  go  off  in  that  un- 
comfortable way,  you  will  oblige  us  chaps  over  here  by  holding  the 
muzzle  down  toward  Dixie,  or  somebody'll  turn  up  his  toes  to  the 
daisies  before  morning  yet." 

"  All  right,  Yank,"  said  Johnny,  stepping  out  from   behind  his  tree 
into  the  bright  moonlight  like  a  man,  "  but  we  can  lick  you,  any  way  !  " 

"Andy,  do  you  think  that  fellow's  gun  went  off  by  accident,  or  was 
the  rascal  trying  to  hurt  somebody  ?  " 

"  I  think  he's  honest  in  what  he  says,  Harry.  His  gun  might  have 
gone  off  by  accident.  There's  no  telling,  though ;  he'll  need  a  little 
watching,  I  guess." 

But  Johnny  paces  his  beat  harmlessly  enough  for  the  remainder  of 
the  hour,  singing  catches  of  song,  and  whistling  the  airs  of  Dixie, 
while  we  pace  ours  as  leisurely  as  he,  but,  with  a  wholesome  regard  for 
guns  that  go  off  so  easily  of  themselves,  we  have  a  decided  preference 
for  the  dark  shadows,  and  are  cautious  lest  we  linger  too  long  on  those 
parts  of  our  several  beats  where  the  bright  moonbeams  lie. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  sentries  of  the  two  armies  were 
forever  picking  one  another  off  whenever  opportunity  offered :  for 
what  good  did  it  do  to  murder  each  other  in  cold  blood  ?  It  only 
wasted  powder,  and  did  not  forward  the  issue  of  the  great  conflict  at 
all.  Except  at  times  immediately  before  or  after  a  battle,  or  when 
there  was  some  specially  exciting  reason  for  mutual  defiance,  the 
pickets  were  generally  on  friendly  terms,  conversed  freely  about  the 
news  of  the  day,  exchanged  newspapers,  coffee,  and  tobacco,  swapped 
knives,  and  occasionally  had  a  friendly  game  o£  cards  together.  Some- 
times, however,  picket  duty  was  but  another  name  for  sharpshooting 
and  bushwhacking  of  the  most  dangerous  and  deadly  sort. 

When  we  had  been  relieved,  and  got  back  to  our  little  bivouac 
under  the  elms  on  the  lawn,  and  sat  down  there  to  discuss  the  episode 
of  the  night,  I  asked  Andy,  — 


ON  PICKET  ALONG   THE  RAPPAHANNOCK.  71 

"  What  was  that  piece  of  poetry  you  read  to  me  the  other  day, 
about  a  picket  being  shot  ?  It  was  something  about  '  All  quiet  along 
the  Potomac  to-night.'  Do  you  remember  the  words  well  enough  to 
repeat  it?  "  . 

"  Yes,  I  committed  it  to  memory,  Harry  ;  and  if  you  wish,  I'll 
recite  it  for  your  benefit.  We'll  just  imagine  ourselves  back  in  the 
dear  old  Academy  again,  and  that  it  is  'declamation-day,'  and  my 
name  is  called,  and  I  step  up  and  declaim,  — 

"ALL  QUIET  ALONG  THE   POTOMAC  TO-NIGHT. 

"  ALL  quiet  along  the  Potomac,  they  say, 

Except,  now  and  then,  a  stray  picket 
Is  shot,  as  he  walks  on  his  beat  to  and  fro, 

By  a  rifleman  hid  in  the  thicket. 
'Tis  nothing  —  a  private  or  two,  now  and  then, 

Will  not  count  in  the  news  of  the  battle  ; 
Not  an  officer  lost  —  only  one  of  the  men, 

Moaning  out,  all  alone,  the  death-rattle. 

"  All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night, 

Where  the  soldiers  lie  peacefully  dreaming ; 
Their  tents,  in  the  rays  of  the  clear  autumn  moon, 

O'er  the  light  of  the  watch-fires  are  gleaming. 
A  tremulous  sigh  of  the  gentle  night  wind 

Through  the  forest  leaves  softly  is  creeping, 
While  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes, 

Keep  guard,  for  the  army  is  sleeping. 
i 

"  There's  only  the  sound  of  the  lone  sentry's  tread, 

As  he  tramps  from  the  rock  to  the  fountain, 
And  thinks  of  the  two,  in  the  low  trundle  bed, 

Far  away  in  the  cot  on  the  mountain. 
His  musket  falls  slack  — his  face,  dark  and  grim, 

Grows  gentle  with  memories  tender, 
As  he  mutters  a  prayer  for  the  children  asleep  — 

For  their  mother  —  may  Heaven  defend  her ! 


72  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  He  passes  the  fountain,  the  blasted  pine  tree  — 

His  footstep  is  lagging  and  weary ; 
Yet  onward  he  goes,  through  the  broad  belt  of  light, 

Toward  the  shades  of  the  forest  so  dreary. 
Hark !  was  it  the  night  wind  that  rustled  the  leaves  ? 

Was  it  the  moonlight  so  wondrously  flashing? 
It  looked  like  a  rifle  — '  Ha  !  Mary,  good  by ! ' 

And  the  life  blood  is  ebbing  and  plashing ! 

"  All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night  — 
No  sound  save  the  rush  of  the  river : 
While  soft  falls  the  dew  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  — • 
The  picket's  off  duty  forever ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  MUD   MARCH  AND  A   SHAM  BATTLE. 

WE  had  been  quietly  lying  in  our  winter  quarters  there  at  Belle 
Plains  some  two  months  and  more,  without  having  yet  had  much  to 
vary  the  dull  monotony  of  a  soldier's  everyday  life.  There  was,  of 
course,  plenty  of  work  in  the  way  of  picket  duty  and  endless  drilling, 
and  no  lack  of  fun  in  the  camp,  of  one  kind  or  other ;  but  of  all  this 
we  gradually  wearied,  and  began  to  long  for  something  new.  Not  that 
we  were  especially  anxious  for  the  fatigues  of  the  march  and  the  stir- 
ring scenes  of  the  battlefield  (of  all  which  we  were  so  far  blissfully 
ignorant)  :  we  simply  felt  that  we  were  tired  of  the  monotony  of  camp 
life,  and,  knowing  that  great  things  were  before  us,  with  all  the  ardor 
of  young  men  for  strange  experiences  arid  new  adventures,  we  grad- 
ually became  more  and  more  anxious  for  the  campaign  to  open.  Alas ! 
we  knew  not  what  it  was  we  wished  for ;  for  when  this  celebrated 
campaign  of  '63  was  ended,  the  few  of  us  who  remained  to  build  our 
second  winter  quarters  had  seen  quite  enough  of  marching  and  fight- 
ing to  last  us  the  rest  of  our  natural  davs. 

o  »/ 

However,  it  was  with  feelings  of  relief  that  we  suddenly  received 
orders  for  the  march  early  in  the  afternoon  of  Monday,  April  20.  As 
good  luck  would  have  it,  Andy  and  I  had  just  finished  a  hearty  meal, 
consisting  in  the  main  of  apple-fritters ;  for  by  this  time  we  had 
repaired  our  chimney,  which  had  been  destroyed  by  the  fire,  and  had 
several  times  already  prepared  our  fritters  without  burning  our  house 
down  over  our  heads  in  the  operation.  Having  finished  our  meal,  we 
were  lying  lazily  back  against  our  knapsacks,  disputing  as  to  whose 
turn  it  was  to  wash  the  dishes,  when  Andy,  hearing  some  outcry  which 

73 


74  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

I  had  not  noticed,  suddenly  leaped  out  of  the  little  door  in  the  side  of 
our  cabin  into  the  company  street,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so,  — 

"  What's  that  sergeant  ?     What's  up  ?  " 

"  Orders  to  move,  that's  all,  my  boy,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  Orders 
to  move.  Pack  up  immediately." 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  queried  a  dozen  voices  in  chorus ;  for  the 
news  spread  like  fire  in  a  clearing,  and  the  boys  came  tumbling  out  of 
their  cabins  pell-mell  and  gathered  about  the  sergeant  in  a  group. 

"  You  tell  me,  and  I'll  tell  you,"  answered  the  sergeant,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  as  he  shouted,  — 

"Pack  up  immediately,  men!  We  go  in  light  marching  order. 
No  knapsacks ;  only  a  shelter  or  a  gum  blanket,  and  three  days' 
rations  in  your  haversacks  ;  and  be  lively  now  !  " 

It  was  not  long  before  we  were  all  ready,  with  our  thirty  hard  tack, 
a  piece  of  pork,  and  a  little  coffee  and  sugar  in  our  haversacks,  and 
our  gum  blankets  or  shelters  rolled  and  twisted  into  a  shape  some- 
what resembling  an  immense  horse  collar,  slung  over  the  shoulder 
diagonally  across  the  body,  as  was  universally  the  custom  with  the 
troops  when  knapsacks  were  to  be  dispensed  with  in  winter,  or  had 
been  thrown  away  in  summer.  We  drummer-boys,  tightening  our 
drums  and  tuning  them  up  with  a  tap-tap-tap  of  the  drumstick,  took 
station  on  the  parade  ground  up  on  the  hill,  awaiting  the  adjutant's 
sio-nal  to  beat  the  assembly.  At  the  first  tap  of  our  drums  the  whole 

&  <J  -L 

regiment,  in  full  view  below  us,  poured  out  of  quarters,  like  ants  tum- 
bling out  of  their  hill  when  disturbed  by  the  thrust  of  a  stick.  As 
the  men  fell  into  line  and  marched  by  companies  up  the  hill  to  the 
parade  ground  where  the  regiment  was  ordinarily  formed,  cheer  upon 
cheer  went  up ;  for  the  monotony  of  camp  life  was  now  plainly  at  an 
end,  and  we  were  at  last  to  be  up  and  doing,  though  where,  or  how,  or 
what,  no  one  could  tell. 

When  a  drumhead  is  wet,  it  at  once  loses  all  its  peculiar  charm 


A   MUD  MARCH  AND  A   SHAM  BATTLE.  75 

and  power.  On  the  present  occasion  our  drumheads  were  soon 
soaked,  for  it  was  raining  hard.  So,  unloosening  the  ropes,  we  slung 
our  useless  sheepskins  over  our  shoulders,  as  the  order  was  given, 
"Forward  —  route-step  —  inarch!"  The  order  "route-step"  was  al- 
ways a  welcome  and  a  merciful  command,  and  the  reader  must  bear  in 
mind  that  troops  on  the  march  always  go  by  the  "route-step."  They 
march  usually  four  abreast,  indeed,  but  make  no  effort  to  keep  step  ; 
for  inarching  in  that  way,  though  good  enough  for  a  mile  or  two  on 
parade,  would  soon  become  intolerable  if  kept  up  for  any  great  dis- 
tance. In  "route-step"  each  man  picks  his  way,  selecting  his  steps  at 
his  pleasure,  and  carrying  or  shifting  his  arms  at  his  convenience. 
Even  then,  marching  is  no  easy  matter,  especially  when  it  is  raining, 
and  you  are  marching  over  a  clay  soil,  —  and  it  did  seem  to  us  that  the 
soil  about  Belle  Plains  was  the  toughest  and  most  slippery  clay  in  the 
world,  at  least  in  the  roads  that  wound,  serpent-like,  around  the  hills 
amongst  which  we  were  marching,  where,  as  we  well  knew,  many  a 
poor  mule  during  the  winter  had  stuck  fast,  and  had  to  be  literally 
pulled  out  or  left  to  die  in  his  tracks  after  the  harness  had  been  ripped 
off  his  back. 

At  first,  however,  we  had  tolerable  marching,  for  we  took  across 
the  fields,  and  kept  well  upon  the  high  ground  as  long  as  we  could. 
We  passed  some  good  farms  and  comfortable-looking  houses,  where 
we  should  have  liked  to  stop  and  buy  bread  and  butter,  or  get 
"hoecake"  and  milk  ;  but  there  was  no  time  for  that,  for  we  made  no 
halt  longer  than  was  necessary  to  allow  the  rear  to  "  close  up,"  and 
then  were  up  and  away  again  at  a  swift  pace. 

The  afternoon  wore  on.  Night  set  in,  arid  we  began  to  wonder,  in 
all  the  simplicity  of  new  troops,  whether  Uncle  Sam  expected  us  to 
march  all  night,  as  well  as  all  day?  To  make  matters  still  worse, 
as  night  fell,  dark  and  drizzling,  we  left  the  high  ground  and  came  out 
on  the  main  road  of  those  regions,  —  and  if  we  never  before  knew 


76  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

what  Virginia  mud  was  like,  we  knew  it  then.  It  was  not  only  knee 
deep,  but  also  so  sticky,  that  when  you  set  one  foot  down  you  could 
scarcely  pull  the  other  out.  As  for  myself,  I  found  my  side-arms  (if, 
indeed,  they  merited  the  name)  a  provoking  incumbrance.  Drummer- 
boys  carried  no  arms  except  a  straight,  thin  sword,  fastened  to  a  broad 
leathern  belt  about  the  waist.  Of  this  we  had  been  in  the  outstart  quite 
proud,  and  had  kept  it  polished  with  great  care.  However,  this  "  toad- 
sticker,"  as  we  were  pleased  to  call  it,  on  this  mud  march  caused  each 
of  us  drummer-boys  a  world  of  trouble,  and  well  illustrated  the  saying 
that  "  pride  goeth  before  a  fall."  For  as  we  groped  about  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  slid  and  plunged  about  in  the  mud,  this  miserable  sword  was 
forever  getting  tangled  up  with  the  wearer's  legs,  so  that,  before  he 
was  aware  of  it,  down  he  went  on  his  face  in  the  mud.  My  own 
weapon  gave  me  so  many  falls  that  night,  that  I  was  quite  out 
of  conceit  with  it.  When  we  reached  camp,  after  this  march  was 
done,  I  handed  it  to  the  quartermaster,  agreeing  to  pay  the  price  of  it 
thrice  over  rather  than  carry  it  any  more.  The  rest  of  the  drummer- 
boys,  I  believe,  carried  theirs  as  far  as  Chancellorsville,  and  there 
solemnly  hung  them  up  on  an  oak-tree,  where  they  are  unto  this  day  if 
nobody  has  found  them  and  carried  them  off  as  trophies  of  war. 

We  had  a  little  darkey  along  with  us  on  this  march,  who  had  an 
experience  which  was  quite  as  provoking  to  him  as  it  was  amusing  to 
us.  The  darkey's  name  was  Bill.  Other  name  he  had  none,  except 
"Shorty,"  which  had  been  given  him  by  the  boys  because  of  his 
remarkably  short  stature.  For  although  he  was  as  strong  as  a  man, 
and  quite  as  old  featured,  he  was  nevertheless  so  dwarfed  in  size  that 
the  name  Shorty  seemed  to  become  him  better  than  his  original  name 
of  Bill.  Well,  Shorty  had  been  employed  by  one  of  our  captains  as 
cook,  or,  as  seemed  more  likely  on  the  present  occasion,  as  a  sort  of 
sumpter-mule.  For  the  captain,  having  an  eye  to  comfort  on  the  march, 
had  loaded  the  poor  darkey  with  a  pack  of  blankets,  tents,  pans, 


A  MUD  MARCH  AND  A   SHAM  BATTLE.  77 

kettles,  and  general  camp  equipage,  so  large  and  bulky  that  it  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  Shorty's  pack  was  quite  as  large  as  himself. 
All  along  it  had  been  a  wonder  to  us  how  he  had  managed  to  pull 
through  so  far  with  all  that  immense  bundle  on  his  back ;  but,  with 
strength  far  beyond  his  size,  he  had  trudged  doggedly  on  at  the 
captain's  heels,  over  hill  and  through  field,  until  we  came  at  nightfall 
to  the  main  road.  There,  like  many  another  sumpter-mule,  he  stuck 
fast  in  the  mud,  so  that,  puff  and  pull  as  he  might,  he  could  not  pull 
either  foot  out,  and  had  to  be  dragged  out  by  two  men,  to  the  great 
merriment  of  all  who,  in  the  growing  darkness,  were  aware  of  Shorty's 
misfortune. 

At  length  it  became  so  dark  that  no  one  was  able  to  see  an  inch 
before  his  face,  and  we  lost  the  road.  Torches  were  then  lighted,  in 
order  to  find  it.  Then  we  forded  a  creek,  and  then  on  and  on  we  went, 
till  at  length  we  were  allowed  to  halt,  and  fall  out  on  either  side  of  the 
road  into  a  last  year's  cornfield,  to  "  make  fires  and  cook  coffee." 

To  make  a  fire  was  a  comparatively  easy  matter,  notwithstanding 
the  rain  ;  for  some  one  or  other  always  had  matches,  and  there  were 
plenty  of  rails  at  hand,  and  these  were  dry  enough  when  split  open 
with  a  hatchet  or  an  axe.  In  a  few  moments  the  fence  around  the 
cornfield  was  carried  off,  rail  by  rail,  and  everywhere  was  heard  the 
sound  of  axes  and  hatchets,  the  premonitory  symptoms  of  roaring 
camp-fires,  which  were  soon  everywhere  blazing  along  the  road. 

"  Harry,"  said  Lieutenant  Dougal,  "  I  haven't  any  tin  cup,  and 
when  you  get  your  coffee  cooked,  I  believe  I'll  share  it  with  you  ; 
may  I?" 

"  Certainly,  lieutenant.  But  where  shall  I  get  water  to  make  the 
coffee  with  ?  It's  so  dark  that  nobody  can  see  how  the  land  lies,  so  as 
to  find  a  spring." 

Without  telling  the  lieutenant  what  I  did,  I  scooped  up  a  tin  cup 
full  of  water  (whether  clear  or  muddy  I  could  not  tell;  it  was  too 


78  RECOLLECTIONS    OF  A   DRUMMER   HOY. 

dark  to  see)  out  of  a  corn  furrow.  I  had  the  less  hesitation  in  doing 
so  because  I  found  all  the  rest  were  doing  the  same,  and  I  argued,  that 
if  they  could  stand  it,  why  I  could  too  —  and  so  could  the  lieutenant. 
Tired  and  wet  and  sleepy  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  but  be  sensi- 
ble of  the  strange,  weird  appearance  the  troops  presented,  as,  coming 
out  of  the  surrounding  darkness,  I  faced  the  brilliant  fires  with  groups 
of  busy  men  about  them.  There  they  sat,  squatting  about  the  fires, 
each  man  with  his  quart  tin  cup  suspended  on  one  end  of  his  iron 
ramrod  or  on  some  convenient  stick,  and  each  eager  and  impatient  to 
be  the  first  to  bring  his  cup  to  the  boiling-point.  Thrusting  my  cup 
in  amongst  the  dozen  others  already  smoking  amid  the  crackling 
flames,  I  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  foam  rise  to  the  surface, 
—  a  sure  indication  that  my  coffee  was  nearly  done.  When  the 
lieutenant  and  I  had  finished  drinking  it,  I  called  his  attention  to  the 
half  inch  of  mud  in  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  and  asked  him  how 
he  liked  coffee  made  out  of  water  taken  from  a  last  year's  corn  furrow  ? 
"  First  rate,"  he  replied,  as  he  took  out  his  tobacco  pouch  and  pipe  for 
a  smoke.  "  First  rate ;  gives  it  the  real  old  '  Virginny '  flavor, 
you  see." 

We  were  not  permitted,  however,  to  enjoy  the  broad  glare  of  our 
fires  very  long  after  our  coffee  was  disposed  of,  for  we  soon  heard  the 
command  to  "  fall  in  "  coming  down  the  line.  It  was  now  half-past 
eleven  o'clock,  and  away  we  went  again  slap- dash,  in  the  thick  dark- 
ness and  bottomless  mud.  At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  during  a 
brief  halt,  I  fell  asleep  while  sitting  on  my  drum,  and  tumbled  over 
into  the  road  from  sheer  exhaustion.  Partly  aroused  by  my  fall,  I 
spread  out  my  shelter  on  the  road  where  the  mud  seemed  the  shal- 
lowest, and  lay  down  to  sleep,  chilled  to  the  bone  and  shivering  like 
an  aspen. 

At  six  o'clock  we  were  roused  up,  and  a  pretty  appearance  we 
presented  too,  for  every  man  was  covered  with  mud  from  neck  to  heel. 


A   MUD  MARCH  AND  A   SHAM  BATTLE. 


79 


However,  daylight  having  now  come  to  our  assistance,  we  marched  on 
in  merrier  mood  in  the  direction  of  Port  Royal,  a  place  or  village  on 
the  Rappahannock,  some  thirty  miles  below  Fredericksburg,  and 
reached  our  destination  about  ten  o'clock  that  forenoon. 

As  we  emerged  from  the  woods  and  came  out  into  the  open  fields, 
with  the  river  in  full  view  about  a  fourth  of  a  mile  in  front,  we  fully 


THE  QUARTERMASTER'S  TRIUMPH. 

believed  that  now,  at  last,  we  were  to  go  at  once  into  battle.  And  so, 
indeed,  it  seemed,  as  the  long  column  halted  in  a  cornfield  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  river,  and  the  pontoon  trains  came  up,  and  the  pioneers 
were  sent  forward  to  help  lay  the  bridges,  and  signal-flags  began  fly- 
ing, and  officers  and  -orderlies  began  to  gallop  gayly  over  the  field  —  of 
course  we  were  now  about  to  go  into  our  first  battle. 

"  I  guess  we'll  have  to  cross  the  river,  Harry,"  said   Andy,  as  we 


80  EECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

stood  together  beside  a  corn  shock  and  watched  the  men  putting  down 
the  pontoons,  "and  then  we'll  have  to  go  in  on  'em  and  gobble 
'em  up." 

"  Yes ;  gobbling  up  is  all  right.  But  suppose  that  over  in  the 
woods  yonder,  on  the  other  side  the  river,  there  might  happen  to  be  a 
lot  of  Johnnies  watching  us,  and  all  ready  to  sweep  down  on  us  and 
gobble  us  up,  while  we  are  crossing  the  river  —  eh  ?  That  wouldn't  be 
nearly  so  nice,  would  it?  " 

"Hah!"  exclaimed  Andy,  "I'd  just  like  to  see  'em  do  it  once! 
Look  there  !  There  come  the  boys  that'll  take  the  Johnnies  through 
the  brush !  " 

Looking  in  the  direction  in  which  Andy  was  pointing,  that  is, 
away  to  the  skirt  of  the  woods  in  our  rear,  I  beheld  a  battery  of 
artillery  coming  up  at  full  gallop  toward  us  and  making  straight  for 
the  river. 

"  Just  you  wait,  now,"  said  Andy,  with  a  triumphant  snap  of  his 
fingers,  "  till  you  hear  those  old  bull  dogs  begin  to  bark,  and  you'll  see 
the  Johnnies  get  up  and  dust !  " 

As  the  battery  came  near  the  spot  where  we  were  standing,  and 
could  be  plainly  seen,  I  exclaimed,  — 

"  Why,  Andy,  I  don't  believe  those  dogs  can  bark  at  all !  Don't 
you  see  ?  They  are  wooden  logs  covered  over  with  black  gum  blankets 
and  mounted  on  the  front  wheels  of  wagons,  and  —  as  sure  as  you're 
alive  —  it's  our  quartermaster  oh  his  gray  horse  in  command  of  the 
battery  !  " 

"  Well,  I  declare ! "  said  Andy,  with  a  look  of  mingled  surprise  and 
disappointment. 

There  was  no  disputing  the  fact.  Dummies  they  were,  those 
cannon  which  Andy  had  so  exultingly  declared  were  to  take  the 
Johnnies  through  the  brush ;  and  we  began  at  once  to  suspect  that 
this  whole  mud  march  was  only  a  miserable  ruse,  or  feint  of  war,  got 


A  MUD   MARCH  AND  A    SHAM  BATTLE.  81 

up  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  deceiving  the  enemy  and  making  him 
believe  that  the  whole  Union  army  was  there  in  full  force,  when  such 
was  by  no  means  the  case.  So  there  was  not  going  to  be  any  battle 
after  all,  then?  Such  indeed,  as  we  learned  a  little  later  in  the  day, 
was  the  true  state  of  things.  Nevertheless,  the  pioneers  went  on  with 
their  work  of  putting  down  the  pontoon  boats  for  a  bridge,  and  our 
gallant  quartermaster,  on  his  bobtail  gray,  with  drawn  sword,  and 
shouting  out  his  commands  like  a  veritable  major-general,  swept  by  us 
with  his  battery  of  wooden  guns,  and  then  away  out  into  the  field  like 
a  whirlwind,  apparently  bent  on  the  most  bloody  work  imaginable. 
Now  the  battery  would  dash  up  and  unlimber  and  get  into  position 
here ;  then  away  on  a  gallop  across  the  field  and  go  into  position 
there  ;  while  the  quartermaster  would  meanwhile  swing  his  sword  and 
shout  himself  hoarse,  as  if  in  the  very  crisis  of  a  battle. 

It  was,  then,  all,  alas !  a  ruse,  and  there  wouldn't  be  any  battle 
after  all !  I  think  the  general  feeling  among  the  men  was  one  of  dis- 
appointment, when  about  nine  o'clock  that  night  we  were  all  with- 
drawn from  the  river  side  under  cover  of  darkness,  and  bivouacked  in 
the  woods  to  our  rear,  where  we  were  ordered  to  make  as  many  and  as 
large  fires  as  we  could,  so  as  to  attract  the  enemy's  attention,  and 
make  him  believe  that  the  whole  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  concentra- 
ting at  that  point ;  whereas  the  truth  was  that,  instead  of  making  any 
movement  thirty  miles  below  Fredericksburg,  the  Union  army,  ten  days 
later,  crossed  the  river  thirty  miles  above  Fredericksburg,  and  met  the 
enemy  at  Chancellorsville. 

But  I  have  never  forgotten  our  gallant  quartermaster,  and  what  a 
fine  appearance  he  made  as  the  commanding  officer  of  a  battery  of 
artillery.  It  was  an  amusing  sight;  for  the  reader  must  remember 
that  a  quartermaster,  having  to  do  only  with  army  supplies,  was  a  non- 
combatant,  that  is  to  say,  he  did  no  fighting,  and  in  most  cases  "  stayed 
by  the  stuff"  among  his  army  wagons,  which  were  usually  far  enough 


82  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

to  the  rear  in  time  of  battle.  Thinking  of  this  little  episode  on  our 
first  mud  march,  there  comes  to  my  mind  a  conversation  I  recently  had 
with  a  gentleman,  my  neighbor,  who  was  also  a  quartermaster  in  the 
Union  army. 

"  I  was  down  in  Virginia  on  business  last  spring,"  said  the  ex-quar- 
termaster, u  in  the  neighborhood  of  Warrenton.  (You  remember  War- 
renton  ?  Fine  country  down  there.)  And  I  found  the  people  very 
kind  and  friendly,  and  inclined  to  forget  the  late  unpleasantness. 
Well,  one  man  came  up  to  me,  and  says  he,  — 

"  '  Major,  you  were  in  the  war,  weren't  you  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  I,  "  I  was  ;  but,  I  might  as  well  admit  it,  I  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence.  I  was  in  the  Union  army.' 

"  '  You  were  ?     Well,  major,  did  you  ever  kill  anybody  ? ' 

"  '  Oh  yes,'  said  I ;  '  lots  of  'em,  —  lots  of  'em,  sir.' 

" '  You  don't  tell  me  ! '  said  the  Virginian.  '  And  if  I  might  be  so 
bold  as  to  ask  — how  did  you  generally  kill  them  ?' 

"  Well,'  said  I,  '  I  never  like  to  tell,  because  bragging  is  not  in  my 
line ;  but  I'll  tell  you.  You  see,  I  never  liked  this  thing  of  shooting 
people.  It  seemed  to  me  a  barbarous  business,  and  besides,  I  was  a 
kind  of  Quaker,  and  had  conscientious  scruples  about  bearing  arms. 
And  so,  when  the  war  broke  out  and  I  found  I'd  have  to  enter  the 
army,  maybe,  whether  I  wanted  to  or  not,  I  enlisted  and  got  in  as  a 
quartermaster,  thinking  that  in  that  position  I  wouldn't  have  to  kill 
anybody  with  a  gun,  anyhow.  But  war  is  a  dreadful  thing,  a  dreadful 
thing,  sir.  And  I  found  that  even  a  quartermaster  had  to  take  a  hand 
at  killing  people  ;  and  the  way  I  took  for  it  was  this :  I  always  man- 
aged to  have  a  good  swift  horse,  and  as  soon  as  things  would  begin  to 
look  a  little  like  fighting,  and  the  big  guns  would  begin  to  boom,  why 
I'd  clap  spurs  to  my  horse  and  make  for  the  rear  as  fast  as  ever  I 
could.  And  then  when  your  people  would  come  after  me,  they  never 
could  catch  me ;  they'd  always  get  out  of  breath  trying  to  come  up  to 


A  MUD  MARCH  AND  A   SHAM  BATTLE. 


83 


me.  And  in  that  way  I've  killed  dozens  of  your  people,  sir,  dozens  of 
them,  and  all  without  powder  or  ball.  They  couldn't  catch  me,  and 
always  died  for  want  of  breath  trying  to  get  hold  of  me  ! ' ' 

We  slept  in  the  woods  that  night,  under  the  dark  pines  and  beside 
our  great  camp-fires  ;  and  early  the  next  morning  took  up  the  line  of 
march  for  home.  We  marched  all  day  over  the  hills,  and  as  the  sun 
was  setting,  came  at  last  to  a  certain  hilltop  whence  we  could  look 
down  upon  the  odd-looking  group  of  cabins  and  wigwams  •  which  we 
recognized  as  our  camp,  and  which  we  hailed  with  cheers  as  our 
home. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

HOW   WE   GOT   A   SHELLING. 

"  PACK  up!  "  "  Fall  in  !"  All  is  stir  and  excitement  in  the  camp. 
The  bugles  are  blowing  "  boots  and  saddles  "  for  the  cavalry,  camped 
above  us  on  the  hill ;  we  drummer-boys  are  beating  the  "  long  roll  " 
and  "  assembly "  for  the  regiment ;  mounted  orderlies  are  galloping 
along  the  hillside  with  great  yellow  envelopes  stuck  in  their  belts ; 
and  the  men  fall  out  of  their  miserable  winter  quarters,  with  shouts 
and  cheers  that  make  the  hills  about  Falmouth  ring  again.  For 
the  winter  is  past ;  the  sweet  breath  of  spring  comes  balmily  up  from 
the  south,  and  the  whole  army  is  on  the  move,  — whither? 

•'Say,  captain,  tell  us  where  are  we  going?"  But  the  captain 
doesn't  know,  nor  even  the  colonel,  —  nobody  knows.  We  are  raw 
troops  yet,  and  have  not  learned  that  soldiers  never  ask  questions 
about  orders. 

So,  fall  in  there,  all  together,  and  forward  !  And  we  ten  little 
drummer-boys  beat  gayly  enough,  "  The  Girl  I  left  behind  Me,"  as  the 
line  sweeps  over  the  hills,  through  the  woods,  and  on  down  to  the 
river's  edge. 

And  soon  here  we  are,  on  the  Rappahannock,  three  miles  below 
Fredericksburg.  We  can  see,  as  we  emerge  from  the  woods,  away 
over  the  river,  the  long  line  of  earthworks  thrown  up  by  the  enemy, 
and  small  dark  specks  moving  about  along  the  field,  in  the  far,  dim 
distance,  which  we  know  to  be  officers,  or,  perhaps,  cavalry  pickets. 
We  can  see,  too,  our  own  first  division,  laying  down  the  pontoon- 
bridge,  on  which,  according  to  a  rumor  that  is  spreading  among  us,  we 
are  to  cross  the  river  and  charge  the  enemy's  works. 

84 


HOW   WE   GOT  A   SHELLING.  85 

Here  is  an  old  army  letter  lying  before  me,  written  on  my  drum- 
head, in  lead  pencil,  in  that  stretch  of  meadow  by  the  river,  where  I 
heard  my  first  shell  scream  and  shriek :  — 

"NEAR  RAPPAHANNOCK  RIVEB,  April  28. 

"  DEAR  FATHER  :  We  have  moved  to  the  river,  and  are  just  going 
into  battle.  I  am  well,  and  so  are  the  boys.  Your  affectionate  sou, 

"  HARRY." 

But  we  do  not  go  into  battle  this  day,  nor  next  day,  nor  at  all  at 
this  point ;  for  we  are  making  only  a  "  feint,"  though  we  do  not  know 
it  now,  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  enemy  from  the  nftin  movement 
of  the  army  at  Chancellorsville,  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles 
farther  up  the  river.  The  men  are  in  good  spirits,  and  all  ready  for 
the  fray ;  but  as  the  day  wears  on  without  further  developments,  arms 
are  stacked,  and  we  begin  to  roam  about  the  hills.  Some  are  writing 
letters  home,  some  sleeping,  some  even  fishing  in  a  little  rivulet  that 
runs  by  us,  when,  toward  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  all  of  a 
sudden,  the  enemy  opens  fire  on  us  with  a  salute  of  three  shells,  fired 
in  rapid  succession,  not  quite  into  our  ranks,  but  a  little  to  the  left  of 
us.  And  see !  over  there  where  the  Forty-third  lies,  to  our  left,  come 
three  stretchers,  and  you  can  see  deep  crimson  stains  on  the  canvas  as 
they  go  by  us,  on  a  lively  trot,  to  the  rear;  for  "the  ball  is  opening, 
boys,"  and  we  are  under  fire  for  the  first  time. 

I  wish  I  could  convey  to  my  readers  some  faint  idea  of  the  noise 
made  by  a  shell  as  it  flies,  shrieking  and  screaming,  through  the  air, 
and  of  that  peculiar  whirring  sound  made  by  the  pieces  after  the  shell 
has  burst  overhead  or  by  your  side.  So  loud,  high-pitched,  shrill,  and 
terrible  is  the  sound,  that  one  unaccustomed  to  it  would  think,  at  first, 
that  the  very  heavens  were  being  torn  down  about  his  ears. 

How  often  I  have  laughed  and  laughed  at  myself  when  thinking  of 
that  first  shelling  we  got  there  by  the  river !  For  up  to  that  time  I 


86  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

had  had  a  very  poor,  old-fashioned  idea  of  what  u  shell  was  like, 
having  derived  it,  probably,  from  accounts  of  sieges  in  the  Mexican 
war. 

I  had  thought  a  shell  was  a  hollow  ball  of  iron,  rilled  with  powder 
and  furnished  with  a  fuse,  and  that  they  threw  it  over  into  your  ranks, 
and  there  it  lay,  hissing  and  spitting,  till  the  fire  reached  the  powder, 
and  the  shell  burst,  and  killed  a  dozen  men  or  so,  —  that  is,  if  some 
venturesome  fellow  didn't  run  up  and  stamp  the  fire  off  the  fuse 
before  the  miserable  thing  went  off!  Of  a  conical  shell,  shaped  like  a 
minie-ball,  with  ridges  on  the  outside  to  fit  the  grooves  of  a  rifled 
cannon,  and  exploding  by  a  percussion-cap  at  the  pointed  end,  I  had 
no  idea  in  the  world.  But  that  was  the  sort  of  thing  they  were  firing 
at  us  now,  —  Hur-r-r  —  bang  !  Hur-r-r  —  bang  ! 

Throwing  myself  flat  on  my  face  while  that  terrible  shriek  is  in 
the  air,  I  cling  closer  to  the  gr  ound  while  I  hear  that  low,  whirring 
sound  near  by,  which  I  foolishly  imagine  to  be  the  sound  of  a  burning 
fuse,  but'  which,  on  raising  my  hea4  and  looking  up  and  around  I  find 
is  the  sound  of  pieces  of  exploded  shells  flying  through  the  air  about 
our  heads  !  The  enemy  has  excellent  range  of  us,  and  gives  it  to  us 
hot  and  fast,  and  we  fall  in  line  and  take  it  as  best  we  may,  and  with- 
out the  pleasure  of  replying,  for  the  enemy's  batteries  are  a  full  mile 
and  a  half  away,  and  no  Enfield  rifle  can  reach  half  so  far. 

"  Colonel,  move  your  regiment  a  little  to  the  right,  so  as  to  get 
under  cover  of  yonder  bank."  It  is  soon  done ;  and  there,  seated  on  a 
bank  about  twenty  feet  high,  with  our  backs  to  the  enemy,  we 
let  them  blaze  away,  for  it  is  not  likely  they  can  tumble  a  shell  down 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees. 

And  now,  see  !  Just  to  the  rear  of  us,  and  therefore  in  full  view 
as  we  are  sitting,  is  a  battery  of  our  own,  coining  up  into  position  at 
full  gallop,  —  a  grand  sight  indeed  !  The  officers  with  swords  flashing 
in  the  evening  sunlight,  the  bugles  clanging  out  the  orders,  the 


HOW   WE   GOT  A   SHELLING,  89 

carriages  unlimbered,  and  the  guns  run  up  into  position  ;  and  now,  that 
ever-beautiful  drill  of  the  artillery  in  action,  steady  and  regular  as  the 
stroke  of  machinery !  How  swiftly  the  man  that  handles  the  swab 
has  prepared  his  piece,  while  the  runners  have  meanwhile  brought  up 
the  little  red  bag  of  powder,  and  the  long,  conical  shell  from  the 
caisson  in  the  rear.  How  swiftly  they  are  rammed  home !  The 
lieutenant  sights  his  piece,  the  man  with  the  lanyard,  with  a  sudden 
jerk,  fires  the  cap,  the  gun  leaps  five  feet  to  the  rear  with  the  recoil, 
and  out  of  the  cannon's  throat,  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  rushes  the  shell, 
shrieking  out  its  message  of  death  into  the  lines  a  mile  and  a  half 
away,  while  our  boys  rend  the  air  with  wild  hurrahs,  for  the  enemy's 
fire  is  answered. 

Now  ensues  an  artillery  duel  that  keeps  the  air  all  quivering 
and  quaking  about  our  ears  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  it  is  all 
the  more  exciting  that  we  can  see  the  beautiful  drill  of  the  batteries 
beside  us,  with  that  steady  swabbing  and  ramming,  running  and  sight- 
ing, and  bang  !  bang !  bang  !  The  mystery  is  how  in  the  world  they 
can  load  and  fire  so  fast. 

"  Boys,  what  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  " 

It  is  Major-General  Abner  Doubleday,  our  division  commander, 
who  reins  in  his  horse  and  asks  the  question.  He  is  a  fine-looking 
officer,  and  is  greatly  beloved  by  the  boys..  He  rides  his  horse  beau- 
tifully, and  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  finest  artillerists  in  the  service,  as 
he  may  well  be,  for  it  was  his  hand  that  fired  the  first  gun  on  the 
Union  side  from  the  walls  of  Fort  Sumter. 

"Why,  general,  we  are  trying  to  put  a  shell  through  that  stone 
barn  over  there  ;  it's  full  of  sharpshooters." 

"  Hold  a  moment !  "  and  the  general  dismounts  and  sights  the  gun. 
"  Try  that  elevation  once,  sergeant,"  he  says  ;  and  the  shell  goes  crash- 
ing through  the  barn,  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  and  the  sharpshooters 
come  pouring  out  of  it  like  bees  out  of  a  hive.  "Let  them  have  it  so, 


90  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

boys."  And  the  general  has  mounted,  and  rides,  laughing,  away  along 
the  line. 

Meanwhile,  something  is  transpiring  immediately  before  our  eyes 
that  amuses  us  greatly.  Not  more  than  twenty  yards  away  from  us  is 
another  high  bank,  corresponding  exactly  with  the  one  we  are  occupy- 
ing, and  running  parallel  with  it,  the  two  hills  inclosing  a  little  ravine 
some  twenty  or  thirty  yards  in  width. 

This  second  high  bank,  the  nearer  one,  you  must  remember,  faces 
the  enemy's  fire.  The  water  has  worn  out  of  the  soft  sand  rock  a  sort 
of  cave,  in  which  Darkie  Bill,  our  company  cook,  took  refuge  at  the 
crack  of  the  first  shell.  And  there,  crouching  in  the  narrow  recess  of 
the  rock,  we  can  see  him  shivering  with  affright.  Every  now  and  then, 
when  there  is  a  lull  in  the  firing,  he  comes  to  the  wide-open  door  of  his 
house,  intent  upon  flight,  and,  rolling  up  the  great  whites  of  his  eyes, 
is  about  to  step  out  and  run,  when  hur-r-r  —  bang  —  crack  !  goes  the 
shell,  and  poor  scared  Darkie  Bill  dives  into  his  cave  again,  head-first, 
like  a  frog  into  a  pond. 

After  repeated  attempts  to  run,  and  repeated  frog-leaps  backward, 
the  poor  fellow  takes  heart  and  cuts  for  the  woods,  pursued  by  the 
laughter  and  shouts  of  the  regiment,  for  which  he  cares  far  less,  how- 
ever, than  for  that  terrible  shriek  in  the  air,  which,  he  afterward  told 
us,  "was  a-sayin'  all  de  time,  'Where's  dat  niggar !  Where's  clat 
nigger !  Where's  dat  nigger  ! ' 

As  nightfall  comes  on,  the  firing  ceases.  Word  is  passed  around 
that  under  cover  of  night  we  are  to  cross  the  pontoons  and  charge  the 
enemy's  works  ;  but  we  sleep  soundly  all  night  on  our  arms,  and  are 
awakened  only  by  the  first  streaks  of  light  in  the  morning  sky. 

We  have  orders  to  move.  A  staff  officer  is  delivering  orders  to  our 
colonel,  who  is  surrounded  by  his  staff.  They  press  in  toward  the 
messenger,  standing  immediately  below  me  as  I  sit  on  the  bank,  when 
the  enemy  gives  us  a  morning  salute,  and  the  shell  comes  ricochetting 


HOW   WE   GOT  A   SHELLING. 


91 


over  the  hill  and  tumbles  into  a  mud  puddle  about  which  the  group 
is  gathered;  the  mounted  officers  crouch  in  their  saddles  and  spur 
hastily  away,  the  foot  officers  throw  themselves  flat  on  their  faces  into 
the  mud;  the  drummer  boy  is  bespattered  with  mud  and  dirt;  but 
fortunately,  the  shell  does  not  explode,  or  my  readers  would  never  have 
heard  how  we  got  our  first  shelling. 

And  now,  "  Fall  in,  men  !  "  and  we  are  off  on  a  double-quick,  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  amid  the  rattle  of  canteens  and  tin  cups,  and  the  regular 
flop,  flop  of  cartridge  boxes  and  bayonet  scabbards,  pursued  for  two 
miles  by  the  hot  fire  of  the  enemy's  batteries,  for  a  long,  hot,  weary 
day's  march  to  the  extreme  right  of  the  army  at  Chancellorsville. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  THE  WOODS   AT   CHANCELLOESVILLB. 

IT  is  no  easy  matter  to  describe  a  long  day's  march  to  one  who 
knows  nothing  of  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life.  That  a  body  of 
troops  marched  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  on  a  certain  day,  from 
daylight  to  midnight,  from  one  point  to  another,  seems,  to  one  who  has 
not  tried  it,  no  great  undertaking.  Thirty  miles  !  It  is  but  an  hour's 
ride  in  the  cars.  Nor  can  the  single  pedestrian,  who  easily  covers 
greater  distances  in  less  time,  have  a  full  idea  of  the  fatigue  of  a 
soldier  as  he  throws  himself  down  by  the  roadside,  utterly  exhausted, 
when  the  day's  march  is  done. 

Unnumbered  circumstances  combine  to  test  the  soldier's  powers  of 
endurance  to  the  very  utmost.  He  has,  in  the  first  place,  a  heavy  load 
to  carry.  His  knapsack,  haversack,  canteen,  ammunition,  musket,  and 
accoutrements  are  by  no  means  a  light  matter  at  the  outset,  and  they 
grow  heavier  with  every  additional  mile  of  the  road.  So  true  is  this, 
that,  in  deciding  what  of  our  clothing  to  take  along  on  a  march  and 
what  to  throw  away,  we  soon  learned  to  be  guided  by  the  soldiers' 
proverb  that  "  what  weighs  an  ounce  in  the  morning  weighs  a  pound 
at  night."  Then,  too,  the  soldier  is  not  master  of  his  own  movements, 
as  is  the  solitary  pedestrian  ;  for  he  cannot  pick  his  way,  nor  husband 
his  strength  by  resting  when  and  where  he  may  choose.  He  marches 
generally  "  four  abreast,"  sometimes  at  double-quick,  when  the  rear  is 
closing  up,  and  again  at  a  most  provokingly  slow  pace  when  there  is 
some  impediment  on  the  road  ahead.  Often  his  canteen  is  empty,  no 
water  is  to  be  had,  and  he  marches  on  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  with  parched 

92 


IN  THE    WOODS  AT   CHANCELLORS  VILLE.  93 

throat  and  lips  and  trembling  limbs,  —  on  and  on,  and  still  on,  until 
about  the  midnight  hour,  at  the  final  "Halt!  "  he  drops  to  the  ground 
like  a  shot,  feverish,  irritable,  exhausted  in  body  and  soul. 

It  would  seem  a  shame  and  a  folly  to  take  troops  thus  utterly  worn 
out,  and  hurl  them  at  midnight  into  a  battle,  the  issue  of  which  hangs 
trembling  in  the  balance.  Yet  this  w'as  what  they  came  pretty  near 
doing  with  us,  after  our  long  march  from  four  miles  below  Fredericks- 
burg  to  the  extreme  right  of  the  army  at  Chancellorsville. 

I  have  a  very  indistinct  and  cloudy  recollection  of  that  march.  I 
can  quite  well  remember  the  beginning  of  it,  when,  at  the  early  dawn, 
the  enemy's  batteries  drove  us,  under  a  sharp  shell  fire,  at  a  lively 
double-quick  for  the  first  four  miles.  And  I  can  well  recall  how,  at 
midnight,  we  threw  ourselves  under  the  great  oak  trees  near  Chancel- 
lorsville, and  were  in  a  moment  sound  asleep,  amid  the  heaven-rending 
thunder  of  the  guns,  the  unbroken  roll  of  the  musketry,  and  the 
shouts  and  yells  of  the  lines  charging  each  other  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to 
our  front.  But  when  I  attempt  to  call  up  the  incidents  that  happened 
by  the  way,  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss.  My  memory  has  retained  nothing 
but  a  confused  mass  of  images  :  here  a  farmhouse,  there  a  mill ;  a  com- 
pany of  stragglers  driven  on  by  the  guard  ;  a  surgeon  writing  upon  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle  an  order  for  an  ambulance  to  carry  a  poor 
exhausted,  and  but  half-conscious  fellow ;  an  officer's  staff  or  an 
orderly  dashing  by,  at  a  lively  trot ;  a  halt  for  coffee  in  the  edge  of  a 
wood ;  filling  a  canteen  (oh,  blessed  memory !)  at  some  meadow 
stream  or  roadside  spring ;  and  on,  and  on,  and  on,  amid  the  rattle  of 
bayonet  scabbards  and  tin  cups,  mopping  our  faces  and  crunching  our 
hard-tack  as  we  went,  —  this,  and  such  as  this,  is  all  that  will  now 
come  to  mind. 

But  of  events  toward  nightfall  the  images  are  clearer,  and  more 
sharply  defined.  The  sun  is  setting,  large,  red,  and  fiery  looking,  in  a 
dull  haze  that  hangs  over  the  thickly  wooded  horizon.  We  are  near- 


94  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A    DRUMMER   BOY. 

ing  the  ford  where  we  are  to  cross  the  Rappahannock.  We  come  to 
some  hilltop,  and  —  hark!  A  deep,  ominous  growl  comes,  from  how 
many  miles  away  we  know  not.  Now  another  ;  then  another  !  . 

On,  boys,  on !  There  is  work  doing  ahead,  and  terrible  work  it  is, 
for  two  great  armies  are  at  each  other's  throat,  and  the  battle  is  raging 
fierce  and  high,  although  we  know  nothing  as  yet  of  how  it  may 
be  going. 

On,  —  on,  —  on  ! 

Turning  sharp  to  the  left,  we  enter  the  approach  to  the  ford,  the 
road  leading,  in  places,  through  a  deep  cut,  —  great  high  pine  trees  on 
either  side  of  the  road  shutting  out  the  little  remaining  light  of  day. 
Here  we  find  the  first  actual  evidences  of  the  great  battle  that 
is  raging  ahead:  long  lines  of  ambulances,  filled  with  wounded; 
yonder  a  poor  fellow  with  a  bandaged  head,  sitting  by  a  spring ;  and  a 
few  steps  away  another,  his  agonies  now  over ;  here,  two  men,  one, 
with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  supporting  the  other,  who  has  turned 
his  musket  into  a  crutch ;  then  more  ambulances,  and  more  wounded 
in  increasing  numbers ;  orderlies  dashing  by  at  full  gallop,  while  the 
thunder  of  the  guns  grows  louder  and  closer  as  we  step  on  the  pon- 
toons, and  so  cross  the  gleaming  river. 

"  Colonel,  your  men  have  had  a  hard  day's  march ;  you  will  now 
let  them  rest  for  the  night." 

It  is  a  staff  officer  whom  I  hear  delivering  this  order  to  our 
colonel,  and  a  sweeter  message  I  think  I  never  heard.  We  cast  wistful 
eyes  at  the  half-extinguished  camp-fires  of  some  regiment  that  has  been 
making  coffee  by  the  roadside,  and  has  just  moved  off,  and  we  think 
them  a  godsend,  as  the  order  is  given  to  "  Stack  arms  !  "  But  before 
we  have  time  even  to  unsling  knapsacks,  the  order  comes,  "  Fall  in  !  " 
and  away  we  go  again,  steadily  plodding  on  through  that  seemingly 
endless  forest  of  scrub  pine  and  oak,  straight  in  the  direction  of  the 
booming  guns  ahead. 


A  SURGEON  WRITING   UPON  THE  POMMEL   OF  HIS  SADDLE  AN  ORDER 

FOR  AN  AMBULANCE. 


IN  THE    WOODS  AT   CHANCELLORSVILLE.  97 

Why  whippoorwills  were  made  I  do  not  know  —  doubtless  for  some 
wise  purpose ;  but  never  before  that  night  did  I  know  they  had  been 
made  in  such  countless  numbers.  Every  tree  and  bush  was  full  of 
them,  it  seemed.  There  were  thousands  of  them,  there  were  tens  of 
thousands  of  them,  there  were  millions  of  them !  and  every  one 
whistling,  as  fast  as  it  could,  "  Who-hoo-hoo  !  who-hoo-hoo  !  who-hoo- 
hoo !  Had  they  been  vultures  or  turkey-buzzards,  —  vast  flocks  of 
which  followed  the  army  wherever  we  went,  almost  darkening  the  sky 
at  times,  and  always  suggesting  unpleasant  reflections,  —  they  could 
could  not  have  appeared  more  execrable  to  me.  Many  were  the 
imprecations  hurled  at  them  as  we  plodded  on  under  the  light  of  the 
great  red  moon,  now  above  the  tree  tops,  while  still  from  every  bush 
came  that  monotonous  half  screech,  half  groan,  "  Who-hoo-hoo ! 
Who-hoo-hoo !  " 

But,  oh,  miserable  birds  of  ill-omen,  there  is  something  more 
ominous  in  the  air  than  your  lugubrious  night  song !  There  is  borne 
to  our  ears  at  every  additional  step  the  deepening  growl  of  the  cannon 
ahead.  As  the  moon  mounts  higher,  aud  we  advance  farther  along  the 
level  forest  land,  we  hear  still  more  distinctly  another  sound  —  the 
long,  unbroken  roll  of  musketry. 

Forward,  now,  at  double-quick,  until  we  are  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
battlefield. 

Shells  are  crashing  through  the  tall  tree  tops  overhead. 

"  Halt !     Load  at  will !     Load  !  " 

In  the  moonlight  that  falls  shimmering  across  the  road,  as  I  look 
back  over  the  column,  I  see  the  bright  steel  flashing,  while  the  jingle 
of  the  ramrods  makes  music  that  stirs  the  blood  to  a  quicker  pulse.  A 
well-known  voice  calls  me  down  the  line,  and  Andy  whispers  a  few 
hurried  words  into  my  ear,  while  he  grasps  my  hand  hard.  But  we  are 
off  at  a  quickstep.  A  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  and  —  hark !  The 
firing  has  ceased,  and  they  are  "  charging "  down  there !  That 


98  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 

peculiar,  and  afterward  well-known,  "  Yi !  Yi !  Yi !  "  indicates  a 
struggle,  for  which  we  are  making  straight  and  fast. 

At  this  moment  comes  the  order:  "Colonel,  you  will  countermarch 
your  men,  and  take  position  down  this  road,  on  the  right.  Follow 
me  !  "  The  staff  officer  leads  us  half  a  mile  to  the  right,  where, 
sinking  down  utterly  exhausted,  we  are  soon  sound  asleep. 

Of  the  next  day  or  two  I  have  but  an  indistinct  recollection. 
What  with  the  fatigue  and  excitement,  the  hunger  and  thirst,  of  the 
last  few  days,  a  high  fever  set  in  for  me.  I  became  half  delirious,  and 
lay  under  a  great  oak  tree,  too  weak  to  walk,  my  head  nearly  splitting 
with  the  noise  of  a  battery  of  steel  cannon,  in  position  fifty  yards  to 
the  left  of  me.  That  battery's  beautiful  but  terrible  drill  I  could 
plainly  see.  My  own  corps  was  put  on  reserve  :  the  men  built  strong 
breastworks,  but  took  no  part  in  the  battle,  excepting  some  little  skir- 
mishing. Our  day  was  yet  to  come. 

One  evening,  —  it  was  the  last  evening  we  spent  in  the  woods  at 
Chancellorsville,  —  a  sergeant  of  my  company  came  back  to  where  we 
were,  with  orders  for  me  to  hunt  up  and  bring  an  ambulance  for  one 
of  the  lieutenants,  who  was  sick. 

"  You  see,  Harry,  there  are  rumors  that  we  are  going  to  retreat 
to-night,  for  the  heavy  rains  have  so  swollen  the  Rappahannock  that 
our  pontoons  are  in  danger  of  being  carried  away,  and  it  appears  that, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  we've  got  to  get  out  of  this  at  once,  under 
cover  of  night,  and  lieutenant  can't  stand  the  march.  So  you  will  go 
for  an  ambulance.  You'll  find  the  ambulance-park  about  two  miles 
from  here.  You'll  take  through  the  woods  in  that  direction,"  — point- 
ing with  his  finger,  —  "  until  you  come  to  a  path ;  follow  the  path  till 
you  come  to  a  road ;  follow  the  road,  taking  to  the  right  and  straight 
ahead,  till  you  come  to  the  ambulances." 

Although  it  was  raining  hard  at  the  time,  and  had  been  raining  for 
several  days,  and  though  I  myself  was  probably  as  sick  as  the  lieu- 


IN  THE   WOODS  AT   CHANCELLORSVILLE.  99 

tenant,  and  felt  positive  that  the  troops  would  have  started  in  retreat 
before  I  could  get  back,  yet  it  was  my  duty  to  obey,  and  off  I  went. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  path ;  and  I  reached  the  road  all 
right.  Fording  a  stream,  the  corduroy  bridge  of  which  was  all  afloat, 
and  walking  rapidly  for  a  half  hour,  I  found  the  ambulances  all  drawn 
up  ready  to  retreat. 

"We  have  orders  to  pull  out  from  here  at  once,  and  can  send  an 
ambulance  for  no  man.  Your  lieutenant  must  take  his  chance." 

It  was  getting  dark  fast,  as  I  started  back  with  this  message.  I 
was  soaked  to  the  skin,  and  the  rain  was  pouring  down  in  torrents. 
To  make  bad  worse,  in  the  darkness  I  turned  off  from  the  road  at  the 
wrong  point,  missed  the  path,  and  quite  lost  my  way !  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  If  I  should  spend  much  time  where  I  was,  I  was  certain  to 
be  left  behind,  for  I  felt  sure  that  the  troops  were  moving  off ;  and  yet 
I  feared  to  make  for  any  of  the  fires  I  saw  through  the  woods,  for  I 
knew  the  lines  of  the  two  armies  were  near  each  other,  and  I  might,  as 
like  as  not,  walk  over  into  the  lines  of  the  enemy. 

Collecting  my  poor  fevered  faculties,  I  determined  to  follow  the 
course  of  a  little  stream  I  heard  plashing  down  among  the  bushes  to 
the  left.  By  and  by  I  fixed  my  eye  on  a  certain  bright  camp-fire,  and 
determined  to  make  for  it  at  all  hazards,  be  it  of  friend  or  of  foe. 
Judge  of  my  joyful  surprise  when  I  found  it  was  burning  in  front  of 
my  own  tent ! 

Standing  about  our  fire,  trying  to  get  warm  and  dry,  our  fellows 
were  discussing  the  question  of  the  retreat  about  to  be  made.  But  I 
was  tired  and  sick,  and  wet  and  sleepy,  and  did  not  at  all  relish  the 
prospect  of  a  night  march  thro-ugh  the  woods  in  drenching  rain.  So, 
putting  on  the  only  remaining  dry  shirt  I  had  left,  I  had  two  on 
already,  and  they  were  soaked  through,  I  lay  down  under  my  shelter, 
shivering  and  with  chattering  teeth,  but  soon  fell  sound  asleep. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  morning  we  were  suddenly  awakened  by 


100  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

a  loud  "  Halloo  there,  you  chaps !  Better  be  digging  out  of  this ! 
We're  the  last  line  of  cavalry  pickets,  and  the  Johnnies  are  on  our 
heels ! " 

It  was  an  easy  matter  for  us  to  sling  on  our  knapsacks  and  rush 
after  the  cavalry  man,  until  a  double-quick  of  two  miles  brought  us 
within  the  rear  line  of  defences  thrown  up  to  cover  the  retreat. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  FIRST  DAY  AT   GETTYSBURG. 

"  HARRY,  I'm  getting  tired  of  this  thing.  It's  becoming  monoto- 
nous, this  thing  of  being  roused  every  morning  at  four,  with  orders  to 
pack  up  and  be  ready  to  march  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  then  lying 
around  here  all  day  in  the  sun.  I  don't  believe  we  are  going  any- 
where, anyhow." 

We  had  been  encamped  for  six  weeks,  of  which  I  need  give  no 
special  account,  only  saying  that  in  those  "  summer  quarters,"  as  they 
might  be  called,  we  went  on  with  our  endless  drilling,  and  were  baked 
and  browned,  and  thoroughly  hardened  to  the  life  of  a  soldier  in  the 
field. 

The  monotony  of  which  Andy  complained  did  not  end  that  day, 
nor  the  next.  For  six  successive  days  we  were  regularly  roused  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  with  orders  to  "  pack  up  and  be  ready  to 
move  immediately  !  "  only  to  unpack  as  regularly  about  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon.  We  could  hear  our  batteries  pounding  away  in  the 
direction  of  Fredericksburg,  but  we  did  not  then  know  that  we  were 
being  held  well  in  hand  till  the  enemy's  plan  had  developed  itself 
into  the  great  march  into  Pennsylvania,  and  we  were  let  off  in 
hot  pursuit. 

So,  at  last,  on  the  twelfth  of  June,  1863,  we  started,  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  in  a  northwesterly  direction.  My  journal  says:  "Very 
warm,  dust  plenty,  water  scarce,  marching  very  hard.  Halted  at  dusk 
at  an  excellent  spring,  and  lay  down  for  the  night  with  aching  limbs 
and  blistered  feet." 

I   pass   over   the   six   days'    continuous   marching   that   followed, 

101 


102  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

steadily  on  toward  the  north,  pausing  only  to  relate  several  incidents 
that  happened  by  the  way. 

On  the  fourteenth  we  were  racing  with  the  enemy  — •  we  being 
pushed  on  to  the  utmost  of  human  endurance  —  for  the  possession  of 
the  defences  of  Washington.  From  five  o'clock  of  that  morning  till 
three  the  following  morning,  —  that  is  to  say  from  daylight  to  day- 
light,—  we  were  hurried  along  under  a  burning  June  sun,  with  no  halt 
longer  than  sufficient  to  recruit  our  strength  with  a  hasty  cup  of  coffee 
at  noon  and  nightfall.  Nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and 
still  on  !  It  was  almost  more  than  flesh  could  endure.  Men  fell  out 
of  line  in  the  darkness  by  the  score,  and  tumbled  over  by  the  roadside, 
asleep  almost  before  they  touched  the  ground. 

I  remember  how  a  great  tall  fellow  in  our  company  made  us  laugh 
along  somewhere  about  one  o'clock  that  morning,  — "  Pointer,"  we 
called  him,  —  an  excellent  soldier,  who  afterward  fell  at  his  post  at 
Spottsylvania.  He  had  been  trudging  on  in  sullen  silence  for  hours, 
when  all  of  a  sudden,  coming  to  a  halt,  he  brought  his  piece  to  "  order 
arms  "  on  the  hard  road  with  a  ring,  took  off  his  cap,  and,  in  language 
far  more  forcible  than  elegant,  began  forthwith  to  denounce  both 
parties  to  the  war,  "from  A  to  Izzard,"  in  all  branches  of  the  service, 
civil  and  military,  army  and  navy,  artillery,  infantry,  and  cavalry,  and 
demanded  that  the  enemy  should  come  on  in  full  force  here  and  now, 
"and  I'll  fight  them  all,  single  handed  and  alone,  the  whole  pack  of 
'em  !  I'm  tired  of  this  everlasting  marching,  and  I  want  to  fight !  " 

"  Three  cheers  for  Pointer  !  "  cried  some  one,  and  we  laughed 
heartily  as  we  toiled  doggedly  on  to  Manassas,  which  we  reached 
at  three  o'clock  A.  M.,  June  15th.  I  can  assure  you,  we  lost  no  time 
in  stretching  ourselves  at  full  length  in  the  tall  summer  grass. 

"  James  McFadden,  report  to  the  adjutant  for  camp  guard !  James 
McFadden  !  Anybody  know  where  Jim  McFadden  is  ?  " 

Now  that  was  rather  hard,  wasn't  it  ?     To  march  from  daylight  to 


ON  THE   MAECH  TO  AND   FROM 
GETTYSBURG. 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  GETTYSBURG.  105 

daylight,  and  lie  down  for  a  rest  of  probably  two  hours  before  starting 
again,  and  then  to  be  called  up  to  stand  throughout  those  precious  two 
hours  on  guard  duty  ! 

I  knew  very  well  where  McFadden  was,  for  wasn't  he  lying  right 
beside  me  in  the  grass  ?  But  just  then  I  was  in  no  humor  to  tell. 
The  camp  might  well  go  without  a  guard  that  night,  or  the  orderly 
might  find  McFadden  in  the  dark  if  he  could. 

But  the  rules  were  strict,  and  the  punishment  was  severe,  and  poor 
McFadden,  bursting  into  tears  of  vexation,  answered  like  a  man : 
"  Here  I  am,  orderly ;  I'll  go."  It  was  hard. 

Two  weeks  later,  both  McFadden  and  the  orderly  went  where  there 
is  neither  marching  nor  standing  guard  any  more. 

Now  comes  a  long  rest  of  a  week,  in  the  woods  near  the  Potomac ; 
for  we  have  been  marching  parallel  with  the  enemy,  and  dare  not  go 
too  fast,  lest,  by  some  sudden  and  dexterous  move  in  the  game,  he 
should  sweep  past  our  rear  in  upon  the  defences  of  Washington.  And 
after  this  sweet  refreshment,  we  cross  the  Potomac  on  pontoons,  and 
march,  perhaps  with  a  lighter  step,  since  we  are  nearing  home,  through 
the  smiling  fields  and  pleasant  villages  of  "  Maryland,  my  Maryland." 
At  Poolesville,  a  little  town  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Potomac,  we 
smile  as  we  see  a  lot  of  children  come  trooping  out  of  the  village 
school,  —  a  merry  sight  to  men  who  have  seen  neither  woman  nor  child 
these  six  months  and  more,  and  a  touching  sight  to  many  a  man  in 
the  ranks  as  he  thinks  of  his  little  flaxen  heads  in  the  far-away  home. 
Ay,  think  of  them  now,  and  think  of  them  full  tenderly  too,  for  many 
a  man  of  you  shall  never  have  child  climb  on  his  knee  any  more  ? 

As  we  enter  one  of  those  pleasant  little  Maryland  villages,  —  Jef- 
ferson by  name,  —  we  find  on  the  outskirts  of  the  place  two  young 
ladies  and  two  young  gentlemen  waving  the  good  old  flag  as  we  pass, 
and  singing,  "  Rally  round  the  Flag,  Boys  !  "  The  excitement  along 
the  line  is  intense.  Cheer  on  cheer  is  given,  by  regiment  after  regiment, 


106  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

as  we  pass  along,  we  drummer-boys  beating,  at  the  colonel's  express 
orders,  the  old  tune,  "  The  Girl  I  left  Behind  me,"  as  a  sort  of 
response.  Soon  we  are  in  among  the  hills  again,  and  still  the  cheering 
goes  on  in  the  far  distance  to  the  rear. 

Only  ten  days  later,  we  passed  through  the  same  village  again,  and 
were  met  by  the  same  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  waving  the  same 
flag  and  singing  the  same  song.  But  though  we  tried  twice,  and  tried 
hard,  we  could  not  cheer  at  all ;  for  there's  a  difference  between  five 
hundred  men  and  one  hundred,  —  is  there  not?  So,  that  second  time, 
we  drooped  our  tattered  flags,  and  raised  our  caps  in  silent  and  sorrow- 
ful salute.  Through  Middletown  next,  where  a  rumor  reaches  us  that 
the  enemy's  forces  have  occupied  Harrisburg,  and  where  certain  ladies, 
standing  on  a  balcony  and  waving  their  handkerchiefs  as  we  pass  by, 
in  reply  to  our  colonel's  greeting,  that  "  we  are  glad  to  see  so  many 
Union  people  here,"  answer,  "  Yes  ;  and  we  are  glad  to  see  the  Yankee 
soldiers,  too." 

From  Middletown,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  across  the  moun- 
tain to  Frederick,  on  the  outskirts  of  which  city  we  camp  for  the 
night.  At  half-past  five  next  morning  (June  29th)  we  are  up  and 
away,  in  a  drizzling  rain,  through  Lewistown  and  Mechanicstown,  near 
which  latter  place  we  pass  a  company  of  Confederate  prisoners, 
twenty-four  in  number,  dressed  in  well-worn  gray  and  butternut, 
which  makes  us  think  that  the  enemy  cannot  be  far  ahead.  After  a 
hard  march  of  twenty-five  miles,  the  greater  part  of  the  way  over  a 
turnpike,  we  reach  Emmittsburg  at  nightfall,  some  of  us  quite  barefoot, 
and  all  of  us  footsore  and  weary.  Next  morning  (June  30th)  at  nine 
o'clock  we  were  up  and  away  again,  "  on  the  road  leading  towards 
Gettysburg,"  they  say.  After  crossing  the  line  between  Maryland 
and  Pennsylvania,  where  the  colonel  halts  the  column  for  a  moment, 
in  order  that  we  may  give  three  rousing  cheers  for  the  "  Old  Keystone 
State,"  we  march  perceptibly  slower,  as  if  there  were  some  impediment 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT   GETTYSBURG.  107 

in  the  way.  There  is  a  feeling  among  the  men  that  the  enemy 
is  somewhere  near.  Towards  noon  we  leave  the  public  road,  and  taking 
across  the  fields,  form  in  line  of  battle  along  the  rear  of  a  wood,  and 
pickets  are  thrown  out.  There  is  an  air  of  uncertainty  and  suspicion 
in  the  ranks  as  we  look  to  the  woods,  and  consider  what  our  pickets 
may  possibly  unmask  there.  But  no  developments  have  yet  been 
made  when  darkness  comes,  and  we  bivouac  for  the  night  behind  a 
strong  stone  wall. 

Passing  down  along  the  line  of  glowing  fires,  in  the  gathering 
gloom,  I  come  on  one  of  my  company  messes  squatting  about  a  fire, 
cooking  supper.  J.oe  Gutelius,  corporal  and  color-guard  from  our 
company,  is  superintending  the  boiling  of  a  piece  of  meat  in  a  tin  can, 
while  Sam  Ruhl  and  his  brother  Joe  are  smoking  their  pipes  near  by. 

"  Boys,  it  begins  to  look  a  little  dubious,  don't  it  ?  Where  is 
Jimmy  Lucas  ?  " 

"  He's  out  on  picket,  in  the  woods  yonder.  Yes,  Harry,  it  begins 
to  look  a  little  as  if  we  were  about  to  stir  the  Johnnies  out  of  the 
brush,"  says  Joe  Gutelius,  throwing  another  rail  on  the  fire. 

"  If  we  do,"  says  Joe  Ruhl,  "  remember  that  you  have  the  post  of 
honor,  Joe,  and  'if  any  man  pulls  down  that  flag,  shoot  him  on  the 
spot ! '  " 

"  Never  you  fear  for  that,"  answers  Joe  Gutelius.  "  We  of  the 
color-guard  will  look  out  for  the  flag.  For  my  part,  I'll  stay  a  dead 
man  on  the  field  before  the  colors  of  the  150th  are  disgraced." 

"  You'll  have  some  tough  tussling  for  your  colors,  then,"  says  Sam. 
"  If  the  '  Louisiana  Tigers '  get  after  you  once,  look  out !  " 

"  Who's  afraid  of  the  '  Louisiana  Tigers '  ?  I'll  back  the  « Buck- 
tails  '  against  the  '  Tigers '  any  day.  Stay  and  take  supper  with 
us,  Harry !  We  are  going  to  have  a  feast  to-night.  I  have  the  heart 
of  a  beef  boiling  in  the  can  yonder ;  and  it  is  done  now.  Sit  up,  boys, 
get  out  your  knives,  and  fall  to." 


108  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  We  were  going  to  have  boiled  lion  heart  for  supper,  Harry,"  says 
Joe  Ruhl,  with  mock  apology  for  the  fare,  "  but  we  couldn't  catcli  any 
lions.  They  seem  to  be  scarce  in  these  parts.  Maybe,  we  can  catch  a 
tiger  to-morrow,  though." 

Little  do  we  think,  as  we  sit  thus  cheerily  talking  about  the  blazing 
fire  behind  the  stone  wall,  that  it  is  our  last  supper  together,  and  that 
ere  another  nightfall  two  of  us  will  be  sleeping  in  the  silent  bivouac  of 
the  dead. 

"  Colonel,  close  up  your  men,  and  move  on  as  rapidly  as  possible." 
It  is  the  morning  of  July  1st,  and  we  are  crossing  a  bridge  over  a 
stream,  as  the  staff  officer,  having  delivered  this  order  for  us,  dashes 
down  the  line  to  hurry  up  the  regiments  in  the  rear.  We  get  up  on  a 
high  range  of  hills,  from  which  we  have  a  magnificent  view.  The  day 
is  bright,  the  air  is  fresh  and  sweet  with  the  scent  of  the  new- mown 
hay,  and  the  sun  shines  out  of  an  almost  cloudless  sky,  and  as  we  gaze 
away  off  yonder  down  the  valley  to  the  left  —  look!  Do  you  see 
that?  A  puff  of  smoke  in  mid  air  !  Very  small,  and  miles  away,  as 
the  faint  and  long-coming  "  boom  "  of  the  exploding  shell  indicates  ; 
but  it  means  that  something  is  going  on  yonder,  away  down  in  the 
valley,  in  which,  perhaps,  we  may  have  a  hand  before  the  day  is  done. 
See  !  another  —  and  another  !  Faint  and  far  away,  comes  the  long- 
delayed  "  boom  !  "  "  boom  !  "  echoing  over  the  hills,  as  the  staff  officer 
dashes  along  the  lines  with  orders  to  "  double-quick  !  double-quick  !  " 

Four  miles  of  almost  constant  double-quicking  is  no  light  work  at 
any  time,  least  of  all  on  such  a  day  as  this  memorable  first  day  of  July, 
for  it  is  hot  and  dusty.  But  we  are  in  our  own  state  now,  boys,  and 
the  battle  is  opening  ahead,  and  it  is  no  time  to  save  breath.  On  we 
go,  now  up  a  hill,  now  over  a  stream,  now  checking  our  headlong  rush 
for  a  moment,  for  we  must  breathe  a  little.  But  the  word  comes  along 
the  line  again,  "double-quick,"  and  we  settle  down  to  it  with  right 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT   GETTYSBURG.  Ill 

good  will,  while  the  cannon  ahead  seem  to  be  getting  nearer  and 
louder.  There's  little  said  in  the  ranks,  for  there  is  little  breath  for 
talking,  though  every  man  is  busy  enough  thinking.  We  all  feel, 
somehow,  that  our  day  has  come  at  last  —  as  indeed  it  has  ! 

We  get  in  through  the  outskirts  of  Gettysburg,  tearing  down  the 
fences  of  the  town  lots  and  outlying  gardens  as  we  go  ;  we  pass  a  bat- 
tery of  brass  guns  drawn  up  beside  the  Seminary,  some  hundred  yards 
in  front  of  which  building,  in  a  strip  of  meadow  land,  we  halt,  and 
rapidly  form  the  line  of  battle. 

"  General,  shall  we  unsling  knapsacks?"  shouts  some  one  down  the 
line  to  our  division  general,  as  he  is  dashing  by. 

"  Never  mind  the  knapsacks,  boys  ;  it's  the  state  now !  " 

And  he  plunges  his  spurs  into  the  flanks  of  his  horse,  as  he  takes 
the  stake-and-rider  fence  at  a  leap,  and  is  away. 

"  Unfurl  the  flags,  color-guard  !  " 

"  Now,  forward,  double " 

"  Colonel,  we're  not  loaded  yet !  " 

A  laugh  runs  along  the  line  as,  at  the  command  "  Load  at  will  — 
load  !  "  the  ramrods  make  their  merry  music,  and  at  once  the  word  is 
given,  "  Forward,  double-quick  ! "  and  the  line  sweeps  up  that  rising 
ground  with  banners  gayly  flying,  and  cheers  that  rend  the  air,  —  a 
sight,  once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten. 

I  suppose  my  readers  wonder  what  a  drummer-boy  does  in  time  of 
battle.  Perhaps  they  have  the  same  idea  I  used  to  have,  namely,  that 
it  is  the  duty  of  a  drummer-boy  to  beat  his  drum  all  the  time  the 
battle  rages,  to  encourage  the  men  or  drown  the  groans  of  the 
wounded !  But  if  they  will  reflect  a  moment,  they  will  see  that  amid 
the  confusion  and  noise  of  battle,  there  is  little  chance  of  martial 
music  being  either  heard  or  heeded.  Our  colonel  had  long  ago  given 
us  our  orders,  — 

"  You  drummer-boys,  in  time  of  an  engagement,  are  to  lay  aside 


112  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 

your  drums  and  take  stretchers  and  help  off  the  wounded.  I  expect 
you  to  do  this,  and  you  are  to  remember  that,  in  doing  it,  you  are  just 
as  much  helping  the  battle  on  as  if  you  were  fighting  with  guns  in 
your  hands." 

And  so  we  sit  down  there  on  our  drums  and  watch  the  line  going 
in  with  cheers.  Forthwith  we  get  a  smart  shelling,  for  there  is  evi- 
dently somebody  else  watching  that  advancing  line  besides  ourselves ; 
but  they  have  elevated  their  guns  a  little  too  much,  so  that  every  shell 
passes  quite  over  the  line  and  ploughs  up  the  meadow  sod  about  us 
in  all  directions. 

Laying  aside  our  knapsacks,  we  go  to  the  Seminary,  now  rapidly 
filling  with  the  wounded.  This  the  enemy  surely  cannot  know,  or 
they  wouldn't  shell  the  building  so  hard !  We  get  stretchers  at  the 
ambulances,  and  start  out  for  the  line  of  battle.  We  can  just  see  our 
regimental  colors  waving  in  the  orchard,  near  a  log  house  about  three 
hundred  yards  ahead,  and  we  start  out  for  it  —  I  on  the  lead,  and 
Daney  behind. 

There  is  one  of  our  batteries  drawn  up  to  our  left  a  short  distance 
as  we  run.  It  is  engaged  in  a  sharp  artillery  duel  with  one  of  the 
enemy's,  which  we  cannot  see,  although  we  can  hear  it  plainly  enough, 
and  straight  between  the  two  our  road  lies.  So,  up  we  go,  Daney  and 
I,  at  a  lively  trot,  dodging  the  shells  as^est  we  can,  till,  panting  for 
breath,  we  set  down  our  stretcher  under  an  apple  tree  in  the  orchard, 
in  which,  under  the  brow  of  the  hill,  we  find  the  regiment  lying,  one 
or  two  companies  being  out  on  the  skirmish  line  ahead. 

I  count  six  men  of  Company  C  lying  yonder  in  the  grass  —  killed, 
they  say,  by  a  single  shell.  Close  beside  them  lies  a  tall,  magnificently 
built  man,  whom  I  recognize  by  his  uniform  as  belonging  to  the  "  Iron 
Brigade,"  and  therefore  probably  an  Iowa  boy.  He  lies  on  his  back  at 
full  length,  with  his  musket  beside  him  —  calm  looking  as  if  asleep, 
but  having  a  fatal  blue  mark  on  his  forehead  and  the  ashen  pallor  of 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT   GETTYSBURG.  113 

death  on  his  countenance.  Andy  calls  me  away  for  a  moment  to  look 
after  some  poor  fellow  whose  arm  is  off  at  the  shoulder ;  and  it  was 
just  time  I  got  away,  too,  for  immediately  a  shell  plunges  into  the  sod 
where  I  had  been  sitting,  tearing  my  stretcher  to  tatters,  and  plough- 
ing up  a  great  furrow  under  one  of  the  boys  who  had  been  sitting 
immediately  behind  me,  and  who  thinks,  "  That  was  rather  close  shav- 
ing, wasn't  it,  now?"  The  bullets  whistling  overhead  make  pretty 
music  with  their  ever-varying  "  z-i-p !  z-i-p ! "  and  we  could  imagine 
them  so  many  bees,  only  they  have  such  a  terribly  sharp  sting.  They 
tell  me,  too  of  a  certain  cavalry  man,  Dennis  Buckley,  Sixth  Michigan 
cavalry,  it  was,  as  I  afterwards  learned — let  history  preserve  the  brave 
boy's  name,  who,  having  had  his  horse  shot  under  him,  and  seeing  that 
first-named  shell  explode  in  Company  C  with  such  disaster,  exclaimed, 
"  That  is  the  company  for  me  ! "  He  remained  with  the  regiment  all 
day,  doing  good  service  with  his  carbine,  and  he  escaped  unhurt ! 

"  Here  they  come  boys  ;  we'll  have  to  go  in  at  them  on  a  charge,  I 
guess  ! "  Creeping  close  around  the  corner  of  the  log-house,  I  can  see 
the  long  lines  of  gray  sweeping  up  in  fine  style  over  the  fields ;  but  I 
feel  the  colonel's  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Keep  back,  my  boy  ;  no  use  exposing  yourself  in  that  way." 

As  I  get  back  behind  the  house  and  look  around,  an  old  man  is 
seen  approaching  our  line  through  the  orchard  in  the  rear.  He  is 
dressed  in  a  long  blue  swallow-tailed  coat  and  high  silk  hat,  and 
coming  up  to  the  colonel,  he  asks,  — 

"  Would  you  let  an  old  chap  like  me  have  a  chance  to  fight  in  your 
ranks,  colonel  ?  " 

"  Can  you  shoot  ?  "  inquires  the  colonel. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can  shoot,  I  reckon,"  says  he. 

"But  where  are  your  cartridges?  " 

"  I've  got  'em  here,  sir,"  says  the  old  man,  slapping  his  hand  on 
his  trousers  pocket. 


114  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

And  so  "  old  John  Burns,"  of  whom  every  schoolboy  has  heard, 
takes  his  place  in  the  line,  and  loads  and  fires  with  the  best  of  them, 
and  is  left  wounded  and  insensible  on  the  field  when  the  day  is  done. 

Reclining  there  under  a  tree  while  the  skirmishing  is  going  on  in 
front,  and  the  shells  are  tearing  up  the  sod  around  us,  I  observe  how 
evidently  hard  pressed  is  that  battery  yonder  in  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
about  fifty  yards  to  our  right.  The  enemy's  batteries  have  excellent 
range  on  the  poor  fellows  serving  it.  And  when  the  smoke  lifts  or 
rolls  away,  in  great  clouds,  for  a  moment,  we  can  see  the  men  running, 
and  ramming,  and  sighting,  and  firing,  and  swabbing,  and  changing 
position  every  few  minutes,  to  throw  the  enemy's  guns  out  of  range  a 
little.  The  men  are  becoming  terribly  few,  but  nevertheless  their  guns, 
with  a  rapidity  that  seems  unabated,  belch  forth  great  clouds  of  smoke, 
and  send  the  shells  shrieking  over  the  plain. 

Meanwhile,  events  occur  which  give  us  something  more  to  think  of 
than  mere  skirmishing  and  shelling.  Our  beloved  brigadier-general, 
Roy  Stone,  stepping  out  a  moment  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy's  position 
and  movements,  is  seen  by  some  sharpshooter  off  in  a  tree,  and  is 
carried,  severely  wounded,  into  the  barn.  Our  colonel,  Langhorne 
Wister,  assumes  command  of  the  brigade.  Our  regiment,  facing 
westward,  while  the  line  on  our  right  faces  to  the  north,  is  observed  to 
be  exposed  to  an  enfilading  fire  from  the  enemy's  guns,  as  well  as  from 
the  long  line  of  gray  now  appearing  in  full  sight  on  our  right.  So  our 
regiment  must  form  in  line  and  "  change  front  forward,"'  in  order  to 
come  in  line  with  the  other  regiments.  Accomplished  swiftly,  this 
new  movement  brings  our  line  at  once  face  to  face  with  the  enemy's, 
which  advances  to  within  fifty  yards,  and  exchanges  a  few  volleys,  but 
is  soon  checked  and  staggered  by  our  fire. 

Yet  now,  see  !  Away  to  our  left,  and  consequently  on  our  flank, 
a  new  line  appears,  rapidly  advancing  out  of  the  woods  a  half  mile 
away,  and  there  must  be  some  quick  and  sharp  work  done  now,  boys, 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT   GETTYSBURG.  117 

or,  between  the  old  foes  in  front  and  the  new  ones  on  our  flank,  we 
shall  be  annihilated.  To  clear  us  of  these  old  assailants  in  front  before 
the  new  line  can  sweep  down  on  our  flank,  our  brave  colonel,  in 
a  ringing  command,  orders  a  charge  along  the  whole  line.  Then, 
before  the  gleaming  and  bristling  bayonets  of  our  "Bucktail"  Brigade 
as  it  yells  and  cheers,  sweeping  resistlessly  over  the  field,  the  enemy 
gives  way,  and  flies  in  confusion.  But  there  is  little  time  to  watch 
them  fly,  for  that  new  line  on  our  left  is  approaching  at  a  rapid  pace ; 
and,  with  shells  falling  thick  and  fast  into  our  ranks,  and  men  drop- 
ping everywhere,  our  regiment  must  reverse  the  former  movement  by 
"  changing  front  to  rear,"  and  so  resume  its  original  position,  facing 
westward ;  for  the  enemy's  new  line  is  approaching  from  that  direc- 
tion, and  if  it  takes  us  in  flank  we  are  done  for. 

To  "  change  front  to  rear  "  is  a  difficult  movement  to  execute  even 
on  drill,  much  more  so  under  severe  fire  ;  but  it  is  executed  now, 
steadily  and  without  confusion,  yet  not  a  minute  too  soon !  For  the 
new  line  of  gray  is  upon  us  in  a  mad  tempest  of  lead,  supported  by  a 
cruel  artillery  fire,  almost  before  our  line  can  steady  itself  to  receive 
the  shock.  However,  partially  protected  by  a  post-and-rail  fence,  we 
answer  fiercely,  and  with  effect  so  terrific,  that  the  enemy's  line 
wavers,  and  at  length  moves  off  by  the  right  flank,  giving  us  a 
breathing  space  for  a  time. 

During  this  struggle,  there  had  been  many  an  exciting  scene  all 
along  the  line,  as  it  swayed  backward  and  forward  over  the  field,. — 
scenes  which  we  have  had  no  time  to  mention  yet. 

See  yonder,  where  the  colors  of  the  regiment  on  our  right  —  our 
sister  regiment,  the  149th  —  have  been  advanced  a  little,  to  draw  the 
enemy's  fire,  while  our  line  sweeps  on  to  the  charge.  There  ensues 
about  the  flags  a  wild  mSUe  and  close  hand-to-hand  encounter.  Some 
of  the  enemy  have  seized  the  colors  and  are  making  off  with  them  in 
triumph,  shouting  victory.  But  a  squad  of  our  own  regiment  dashes 


118  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

out  swiftly,  led  to  the  rescue  of  the  stolen  colors  by  Sergeant  John  C. 
Jvensill,  of  Company  F,  who  falls  to  the  ground  before  reaching  them, 
and  amid  yells  and  cheers  and  smoke  you  see  the  battle  flags  rise  and 
fall,  and  sway  hither  and  thither  upon  the  surging  mass,  as  if  tossed 
on  the  billows  of  a  tempest,  until,  wrenched  away  by  strong  arms,  they 
are  borne  back  in  triumph  to  the  line  of  the  149th. 

See  yonder,  again  !  Our  colonel  is  clapping  his  hand  to  his  cheek, 
from  which  a  red  stream  is  pouring;  our  lieutenant-colonel,  Henry  S. 
Huidekoper,  is  kneeling  on  the  ground,  and  is  having  his  handkerchief 
tied  tight  around  his  arm  at  the  shoulder ;  Major  Thomas  Chamberlain 
and  Adjutant  Richard  L.  Aslmrst  both  lie  low,  pierced  with  balls 
through  the  chest;  one  lieutenant  is  waving  his  sword  to  his  men, 
although  his  leg  is  crushed  at  the  knee ;  three  other  officers  of  the  line 
are  lying  over  there,  motionless  now  forever.  All  over  the  field  are 
strewn  men,  wounded  or  dead,  and  comrades  pause  a  moment  in  the 
mad  rush  to  catch  the  last  words  of  the  dying.  Incidents  such  as 
these  the  reader  must  imagine  for  himself,  to  fill  in  these  swift  sketches 
of  how  the  day  was  won  —  and  lost ! 

Ay,  lost !  For  the  balls  which  have  so  far  come  mainly  from  our 
front,  begin  now  to  sing  in  from  our  left  and  right,  which  means  that 
we  are  being  flanked.  Somehow,  away  off  to  our  right,  a  half  mile  or 
so,  our  line  has  given  way,  and  is  already  on  retreat  through  the 
town,  while  our  left  is  being  driven  in,  and  we  ourselves  may  shortly 
be  surrounded  and  crushed  —  and  so  the  retreat  is  sounded. 

Back  now  along  the  railroad  cut  we  go,  or  through  the  orchard  and 
the  narrow  strip  of  woods  behind  it,  with  our  dead  scattered  around 
on  all  sides,  and  the  wounded  crying  piteously  for  help. 

"  Harry  !  Harry  !  "  It  is  a  faint  cry  of  a  dying  man  yonder  in  the 
grass,  and  I  must  see  who  it  is. 

"  Why,  Willie  !  Tell  me  where  you  are  hurt,"  I  ask,  kneeling  down 
beside  him ;  and  I  see  the  words  come  hard,  for  he  is  fast  dying. 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT   GETTYSBURG.  119 

"  Here  in  my  side,  Harry.     Tell  —  mother  —  mother  "  — 

Poor  fellow,  he  can  say  no  more.  His  head  falls  back,  and  Willie 
is  at  rest  forever  ! 

On,  now,  through  that  strip  of  woods,  at  the  other  edge  of  which, 
with  my  back  against  a  stout  oak,  I  stop  and  look  at  a  beautiful  and 
thrilling  sight.  Some  reserves  are  being  brought  up  ;  infantry  in  the 
centre,  the  colors  flying  and  officers  shouting  ;  cavalry  on  the  right, 
with  sabres  flashing  and  horses  on  a  trot ;  artillery  on  the  left,  with 
guns  at  full  gallop  sweeping  into  position  to  check  the  headlong  pur- 
suit, —  it  is  a  grand  sight,  and  a  fine  rally ;  but  a  vain  one,  for  in  an 
hour  we  are  swept  off  the  field,  and  are  in  full  retreat  through  the 
town. 

Up  through  the  streets  hurries  the  remnant  of  our  shattered  corps, 
while  the  enemy  is  pouring  into  the  town  only  a  few  squares  away 
from  us.  There  is  a  tempest  of  shrieking  shells  and  whistling  balls 
about  our  ears.  The  guns  of  that  battery  by  the  woods  we  have 
dragged  along,  all  the  horses  being  disabled.  The  artillery  men  load 
as  we  go,  double-charging  with  grape  and  canister. 

"  Make  way  there,  men ! "  is  the  cry,  and  the  surging  mass  crowds 
close  up  on  the  sidewalks  to  right  and  left,  leaving  a  long  lane  down 
the  centre  of  the  street,  through  which  the  grape  and  canister  go  rat- 
tling into  the  ranks  of  the  enemy's  advance  guard. 

And  so,  amid  scenes  which  I  have  neither  space  nor  power  to 
describe, 'we  gain  Cemetery  Ridge  towards  sunset,  and  throw  ourselves 
down  by  the  road  in  a  tumult  of  excitement  and  grief,  having  lost  the 
day  through  the  overwhelming  force  of  numbers,  and  yet  somehow 
having  gained  it  too,  although  as  yet  we  know  it  not,  for  the  sacrifice 
of  our  corps  has  saved  the  position  for  the  rest  of  the  army,  which  has 
been  marching  all  day,  and  which  comes  pouring  in  over  Cemetery 
Ridge  all  night  long. 

Ay,  the  position  is  saved  ;  but  where  is  our  corps  ?     Well  may  our 


120  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

division  general,  Doubleday,  who  early  in  the  day  succeeded  to  the 
command,  when  our  brave  Reynolds  had  fallen,  shed  tears  of  grief  as 
he  sits  there  on  his  horse  and  looks  over  the  shattered  remains  of  that 
First  Army  Corps,  for  there  is  but  a  handful  of  it  left.  Of  the  five 
hundred  and  fifty  men  that  inarched  under  our  regimental  colors  in 
the  morning,  but  one  hundred  remain.  All  our  field  and  staff  officers 
are  gone.  Of  some  twenty  captains  and  lieutenants,  but  one  is  left 
without  a  scratch,  while  of  my  own  company  only  thirteen  out  of  fifty- 
four  sleep  that  night  on  Cemetery  Ridge,  under  the  open  canopy  of 
heaven.  There  is  no  roll  call,  for  Sergeant  Weidensaul  will  call  the 
roll  no  more  ;  nor  will  Joe  Gutelius,  nor  Joe  Ruhl,  nor  McFadden, 
nor  Henning,  nor  many  others  of  our  comrades  whom  we  miss,  ever 
answer  to  their  names  again  until  the  world's  last  great  reveille*. 


CHAPTER   XL 

AFTER   THE  BATTLE. 

I  HAD  frequently  seen  pictures  of  battlefields,  and  had  often  read 
about  them  ;  but  the  most  terrible  scenes  of  carnage  my  boyish  imagi- 
nation had  ever  figured  fell  far  short  of  the  dreadful  reality  as  I  beheld 
it  after  the  great  battle  of  the  war.  It  was  the  evening  of  Sunday, 
July  5,  1863,  when,  at  the  suggestion  of  Andy,  we  took  our  way 
across  the  breastworks,  stone  fences,  and  redoubts,  to  look  over  the 
battlefield.  Our  shattered  brigade  had  been  mainly  on  reserve  during 
the  last  three  days ;  and  as  we  made  our  way  through  the  troops  lying 
in  our  front,  and  over  the  defences  of  stone  and  earth  and  ragged 
rocks,  the  scene  among  our  troops  was  one  for  the  pencil  of  a  great 
artist. 

Scattered  about  irregularly  were  groups  of  men  discussing  the 
battle  and  its  results,  or  relating  exciting  incidents  and  adventures  of 
the  fray :  here,  one  fellow  pointing  out  bullet  holes  in  his  coat  or  cap, 
or  a  great  rent  in  the  sleeve  of  his  blouse  made  by  a  flying  piece  of 
shell ;  there,  a  man  laughing  as  he  held  up  his  crushed  canteen,  or 
showed  his  tobacco-box  with  a  hole  in  the  lid  and  a  bullet  among  his 
"  fine  cut "  ;  yonder,  knots  of  men  frying  steaks  and  cooking  coffee 
about  the  fire,  or  making  ready  for  sleep. 

Before  we  pass  beyond  our  own  front  line,  evidences  of  the  terrible 
carnage  of  the  battle  environ  us  on  all  sides.  Fresh,  hastily  dug 
graves  are  there,  with  rude  head  boards  telling  the  poor  fellows'  names 
and  regiments;  yonder,  a  tree  on  whose  smooth  bark  the  names  of 
three  Confederate  generals,  who  fell  here  in  the  gallant  charge,  have 

121 


122  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

been  carved  by  some  thoughtful  hand.  The  trees  round  about  are 
chipped  by  the  balls  and  stripped  almost  bare  by  the  leaden  hail,  while 
a  log  house  near  by  in  the  clearing  has  been  so  riddled  with  shot  and 
shell  that  scarcely  a  whole  shingle  is  left  to  its  roof. 

But  sights  still  more  fearful  await  us  as  we  step  out  bej^ond  the 
front  line,  pick  our  wray  carefully  among  the  great  rocks,  and  walk 
down  the  slope  to  the  scene  of  the  fearful  charge.  The  ground  has 
been  soaked  with  the  recent  rains,  and  the  heavy  mist  which  hangs 
like  a  pall  over  the  field,  together  with  the  growing  darkness,  render 
objects  but  indistinctly  visible,  and  all  the  more  ghastly.  As  the  eye 
ranges  over  so  much  of  the  field  as  the  shrouding  mist  allows  us  to 
see,  we  behold  a  scene  of  destruction  terrible  indeed,  if  ever  there  was 
one  in  all  this  wide  world !  Dismounted  gun  carriages,  shattered 
caissons,  knapsacks,  haversacks,  muskets,  bayonets,  accoutrements, 
scattered  over  the  field  in  wildest  confusion,  —  horses,  poor  creatures! 
dead  and  dying,  —  and,  worst  and  most  awful  of  all,  dead  men  by  the 
hundreds !  Most  of  the  men  in  blue  have  been  buried  already,  and 
the  pioneers  yonder  in  the  mist  are  busy  digging  trenches  for  the  poor 
fellows  in  gray. 

As  we  pass  along,  we  stop  to  observe  how  thickly  they  lie,  here 
and  there,  like  grain  before  the  scythe  in  summer  time,  —  how  firmly 
some  have  grasped  their  guns,  with  high,  defiant  looks,  —  and  how 
calm  are  the  countenances  of  others  in  their  last  solemn  sleep;  while 
more  than  one  has  clutched  in  his  stiffened  fingers  a  piece  of  white 
paper,  which  he  waved,  poor  soul,  in  his  death  agony,  as  a  plea  for 
quarter,  when  the  great  wave  of  battle  had  receded  and  left  him  there, 
mortally  wounded,  on  the  field. 

I  sicken  of  the  dreadful  scene,  can  endure  it  no  longer,  and  beg 
Andy  to  "  Come  away !  Come  away  !  It's  too  awful  to  look  at  any 
more  ! " 

And  so  we   get  back  to  our  place  in  the  breastworks  with  sad, 


AFTER    THE  BATTLE.  123 

heavy  hearts,  and  wonder  how  we  ever  could  have  imagined  war  so 
grand  and  gallant  a  thing  when,  after  all,  it  is  so  horridly  wicked  and 
cruel.  We  lie  down  —  the  thirteen  of  us  that  are  left  in  the  company 
—  on  a  big  flat  rock,  sleeping  without  shelter,  and  shielding  our  faces 
from  the  drizzling  rain  with  our  caps,  as  best  we  may,  thinking  of 
the  dreadful  scene  in  front  there,  and  of  the  sad,  heavy  hearts  there 
will  be  all  over  the  land  for  weary  years,  till  kindly  sleep  comes  to  us, 
with  sweet  forgetfulness  of  all. 

Our  clothes  were  damp  with  the  heavy  mists  and  drizzling  rain 
when  we  awoke  next  morning,  and  hastily  prepared  for  the  march  off 
the  field,  and  the  long  pursuit  of  the  foe  through  the  waving  grain 
fields  of  Maryland.  Having  cooked  our  coffee  in  our  blackened  tin 
cups,  and  roasted  our  slices  of  fresh  beef,  stuck  on  the  end  of  a  ram- 
rod and  thrust  into  the  crackling  fires,  we  were  ready  in  a  moment  for 
the  march,  for  we  had  but  little  to  pack  up, 

Straight  over  the  field  we  go,  through  that  valley  of  death  where 
the  heavy  charging  had  been  done,  and  thousands  of  men  had  been 
swept  away,  line  after  line,  in  the  mad  and  furious  tempest  of  the 
battle.  Heavy  mists  still  overhang  the  field,  even  dumb  Nature 
seeming  to  be  in  sympathy  with  the  scene,  while  all  around  us,  as  we 
march  along,  are  sights  at  which  the  most  callous  turn  faint.  Inter- 
esting enough  we  find  the  evidences  of  conflict,  save  only  where 
human  life  is  concerned. 

We  stop  to  wonder  at  the  immense  furrow  yonder,  which  some 
shell  has  ploughed  up  in  the  ground ;  we  call  one  another's  attention 
to  a  caisson  shivered  to  atoms  by  an  explosion,  or  to  a  tree  cut  clean 
off  by  a  solid  shot,  or  bored  through  and  through  by  a  shell.  With 
pity  we  contemplate  the  poor  artillery  horses  hobbling,  wounded  and 
mangled,  about  the  field,  and  we  think  it  a  mercy  to  shoot  them  as  we 
pass.  But  the  dead  men  !  Hundreds  of  torn  and  distorted  bodies  yet 
on  the  field,  although  thousands  already  lie  buried  in  the  trenches. 


124  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

Even  the  roughest  and  rudest  among  us  marches  awed  and  silent,  as 
he  is  forced  to  think  of  the  terrible  suffering  endured  in  this  place,  and 
of  the  sorrow  and  tears  there  will  be  among  the  mountains  of  the 
North  and  the  rice  fields  of  the  far-off  South. 

We  were  quiet,  I  remember,  very  quiet,  as  we  marched  off  that 
great  field  ;  and  not  only  then,  but  for  days  afterwards,  as  we  tramped 
through  the  pleasant  fields  of  Maryland.  We  had  little  to  say,  and  we 
all  were  pretty  busily  thinking.  Where  were  the  boys  who,  but 
a  week  before,  had  marched  with  us  through  those  same  fragrant  fields, 
blithe  as  a  sunshiny  morn  in  May  ?  And  so,  as  I  have  told  you,  when 
those  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  came  out  to  the  end  of  that 
Maryland  village  to  meet  and  cheer  us  after  the  battle,  as  they  had 
met  and  cheered  us  before  it,  we  did  not  know  how  heavy-hearted  we 
were  until,  in  response  to  their  song  of  "  Rally  round  the  Flag, 
Boys !  "  some  one  proposed  three  cheers  for  them.  But  the  cheers 
would  not  come.  Somehow,  after  the  first  hurrah,  the  other  two 
stuck  in  our  throats  or  died  away  soundless  on  the  air.  And  so  we 
only  said,  "  God  bless  you,  young  friends  ;  but  we  can't  cheer  to-day, 
you  see  ! " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THROUGH   "MARYLAND,   MY  MARYLAND." 

OUR  course  now  lay  through  Maryland,  and  we  performed  endless 
marches  and  countermarches  over  turnpikes  and  through  field  and 
forest. 

After  crossing  South  Mountain, — but  stop,  I  just  must  tell  you 
about  that,  it  will  take  but  a  paragraph  or  two.  South  Mountain  Pass 
we  entered  one  July  evening,  after  a  drenching  rain,  on  the  Middle- 
town  side,  and  marched  along  through  that  deep  mountain  gorge,  with 
a  high  cliff  on  either  side,  and  a  delightful  stream  of  fresh  water 
flowing  along  the  road;  emerging  on  the  other  side  at  the  close* of  day. 
Breaking  off  the  line  of  march  by  the  right  flank,  \^e  suddenly 
crossed  the  stream,  and  were  ordered  up  the  mountain  side  in  the 
gathering  darkness.  We  climbed  very  slowly  at  first,  and  more 
slowly  still  as  the  darkness  deepened  and  the  path  grew  steeper  and 
more  difficult.  At  about  nine  o'clock,  orders  were  given  to  "sleep  on 
arms,"  and  then,  from  sheer  fatigue,  we  all  fell  sound  asleep,  some 
lying  on  the  rocks,  some  sitting  bolt  upright  against  the  trees,  some 
stretched  out  at  full  length  on  beds  of  moss  or  clumps  of  bushes. 

What  a  magnificent  sight  awaited  us  the  next  morning !  Opening 
our  eyes  at  peep  o'  day,  we  found  ourselves  high  up  on  top  of  a  moun- 
tain bluff,  overlooking  the  lovely  valley  about  Boonesboro.  The  rains 
were  past ;  the  sun  was  just  beginning  to  break  through  the  clouds ; 
great  billows  of  mist  were  rolling  up  from  the  hollows  below,  where 
we  could  catch  occasional  glimpses  of  the  movements  of  troops, — 
cavalry  dashing  about  in  squads,  and  infantry  marching  in  solid 

]25 


126  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

columns.  What  may  have  been  the  object  of  sending  us  up  that 
mountain,  or  what  the  intention  in  ordering  us  to  fell  the  trees  from 
the  mountain-top,  and  build  breastworks  hundreds  of  feet  above  the 
valley,  I  have  never  learned.  That  one  morning  amid  the  mists  of  the 
mountain,  and  that  one  grand  view  of  the  lovely  valley  beneath,  were 
to  my  mind  sufficient  reason  for  being  there. 

Refreshed  by  a  day's  rest  on  the  mountain-top,  we  march  down 
into  the  valley  on  the  tenth,  exhilarated  by  the  sweet,  fresh  mountain 
air,  as  well  as  by  the  prospect,  as  we  suppose,  of  a  speedy  end  being 
put  to  this  cruel  war.  For  we  know  that  the  enemy  is  somewhere 
crossing  the  swollen  Potomac  back  into  Virginia,  in  a  crippled  condi- 
tion, and  we  are  sure  he  will  be  finally  crushed  in  the  next  great 
battle,  which  cannot  now  be  many  hours  distant.  And  so  we  march 
leisurely  along,  over  turnpikes  and  through  grain  fields,  on  the  edge  of 
one  of  which,  by  and  by,  we  halt  in  line  of  battle,  stack  arms,  and, 
with  three  cheers,  rush  in  a  line  for  a  stake-and-rider  fence,  with  the 
rails  of  which  we  are  to  build  breastworks.  It  is  wonderful  how  rap- 
idly that  Maryland  farmer's  fence  disappears !  Each  man  seizing  a 
rail,  the  fence  literally  walks  off,  and  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes 
it  reappears  in  the  shape  of  a  compact  and  well-built  line  of 
breastworks. 

But  scarcely  is  the  work  completed  when  we  are  ordered  into  the 
road  again,  and  up  this  we  advance  a  half-mile  or  so,  and  form  in  line 
on  the  left  of  the  road  and  on  the  skirt  of  another  wheat  field.  We 
are  about  to  stack  arms  and  build  a  second  line  of  works,  when,  — 

Z-i-p  !  z-i-p  !  z-i-p  ! 

Ah !  It  is  music  we  know  right  well  by  this  time  !  Three  light 
puffs  of  smoke  rise  yonder  in  the  wheat  field,  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
away,  where  the  enemy's  pickets  are  lying  concealed  in  the  tall  grain. 
Three  balls  go  singing  merrily  over  my  head  —  intended,  no  doubt,  for 
the  lieutenant,  who  is  acting-adjutant,  and  who  rides  immediately  in 


THROUGH  "MARYLAND,  MY  MARYLAND."  127 

front  of  me,  with  a  bandage  over  his  forehead,  but  who  is  too  busy 
forming  the  line  to  give  much  heed  to  his  danger. 

"  We'll  take  you  out  o'  that  grass  a-hopping,  you  long-legged 
rascals  !  "  shouts  Pointer,  as  the  command  is  given,  — 

"  Deploy  to  right  and  left  as  skirmishers,"  —  while  a  battery  of 
artillery  is  brought  up  at  a  gallop,  and  the  guns  are  trained  on  a  cer- 
tain red  barn  away  across  the  field,  from  which  the  enemy's  sharp- 
shooters are  picking  off  our  men. 

Bang !  Hur-r-r !  Boom !  One,  two,  three,  four  shells  go  crashing 
through  the  red  barn,  while  the  shingles  and  boards  fly  like  feathers, 
and  the  sharpshooters  pour  out  from  it  in  wild  haste.  The  pickets  are 
popping  away  at  one  another  out  there  along  the  field,  and  in  the  edge 
of  the  wood  beyond ;  the  enemy  is  driven  in  and  retreats,  but  we  do 
not  advance,  and  the  expected  battle  does  not  come  off,  after  all,  as  we 
had  hoped  it  would.  For  in  the  great  war-council  held  about  that 
time,  as  we  afterwards  learned,  our  generals,  by  a  close  vote,  have 
decided  not  to  risk  a  general  engagement,  but  to  let  the  enemy  get 
back  into  Virginia  again,  crippled,  indeed,  but  not  crushed,  as  every 
man  in  the  ranks  believes  he  well  might  be. 

As  we  step  on  the  swaying  pontoons  to  recross  the  Potomac  into 
old  Virginia,  there  are  murmurs  of  disappointment  all  along  the  line. 

"Why  didn't  they  let  us  fight?  We  could  have  thrashed  them 
now,  if  ever  we  could.  We  are  tired  of  this  everlasting  marching  and 
countermarching  up  and  down,  and  we  want  to  fight  it  out  and  be 
done  with  it." 

But  for  all  our  feelings  and  wishes  we  are  back  again  on  the  south 
side  of  the  river,  and  the  column  of  blue  soon  is  marching  along  gayly 
enough  among  the  hills  and  pleasant  fields  about  Waterford. 

We  did  not  go  very  fast  nor  very  far  those  hot  July  days,  because 
we  had  very  little  to  eat.  Somehow  or  other  our  provision  trains  had 
lost  their  reckoning,  and  in  consequence  we  were  left  to  subsist  as 


128  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

best  we  could,  We  were  a  worn,  haggard-looking,  hungry,  ragged  set 
of  men.  As  for  me  —  out  at  knee  and  elbow,  my  hair  sticking  out  in 
tufts  through  holes  in  the  top  of  my  hat,  my  shoes  in  shreds,  and  my 
haversack  empty  —  I  must  have  presented  a  forlorn  appearance  indeed. 
Fortunately,  however,  blackberries  were  ripe  and  plentiful.  All  along 
the  road,  and  all  through  the  fields,  as  we  approached  Warrenton, 
these  delicious  berries  hung  on  the  vines  in  great  luscious  clusters. 
Yet  blackberries  for  supper  and  blackberries  for  breakfast  give  a  man 
but  little  strength  for  marching,  under  a  July  sun,  all  day  long.  So 
Corporal  Harter  and  I  thought,  as  we  sat  one  morning  in  a  clover 
field,  where  we  were  resting  for  the  day,  busy  boiling  a  chicken  at  our 
camp-fire. 

''Where  did  you  get  that  chicken,  corporal?"  said  I. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Harry,  I  didn't  steal  her,  and  I  didn't  buy  her, 
neither.  Late  last  night,  while  we  were  crossing  that  creek,  I  heard 
some  fellow  say  he  had  carried  that  old  chicken  all  day  since  morning, 
and  she  was  getting  too  heavy  for  him,  and  he  was  going  to  throw  her 
into  the  creek ;  and  so  I  said  I'd  take  her,  and  I  did,  and  carried  her 
all  night,  and  here  she  is  now  in  the  pan,  sizzling  away,  Harry." 

"  I'm  afraid,  corporal,  this  is  a  fowl  trick." 

"Fair  or  fowl,  we'll  have  a  good  dinner,  any  way." 

With  an  appetite  ever  growing  keener  as  we  caught  savory  whiffs 
from  the  steaming  mess-pan,  we  piled  up  the  rails  on  the  fire  and 
boiled  the  biddy,  and  boiled,  and  boiled,  and  boiled  her  from  morn  till 
noon,  and  from  noon  till  night,  and  couldn't  eat  her  then,  she  was  so 
tough ! 

"  May  the  dogs  take  the  old  grizzle-gizzard  !  I'm  not  going  to 
break  my  teeth  on  this  old  buzzard  any  more,"  shouted  the  corporal, 
as  he  flung  the  whole  cartilaginous  mass  into  a  pile  of  brush  near  by. 
"  It  was  a  fowl  trick,  after  all,  Harry,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Thus  it  chanced  that,  when  we  marched  out  of  Warrenton  early 


THROUGH  "MARYLAND,  MY  MARYLAND."  129 

one  sultry  summer  morning,  we  started  with  empty  stomachs  and 
haversacks,  and  marched  on  till  noon  with  nothing  to  eat.  Halting 
then  in  a  wood,  we  threw  ourselves  under  the  trees,  utterly  exhausted. 
About  three  o'clock,  as  we  lay  there,  a  whole  staff  of  officers  came 
riding  down  the  line  —  the  quartermaster-general  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  and  staff,  they  said  it  was.  Just  the  very  man  we  wanted  to 
see  !  Then  broke  forth  such  a  yell  from  hundreds  of  famished  men  as 
the  quartermaster-general  had  probably  never  heard  before  nor  ever 
wished  to  hear  again,  — 

«  Hard-tack  ! " 

«  Coffee ! " 

"Pork!" 

"Beef!" 

"  Sugar  ! " 

"Salt!" 

"  Pepper ! " 

"  Hard-tack !     Hard-tack  !  " 

The  quartermaster  and  staff  put  their  spurs  to  their  horses  and 
dashed  away  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  at  last,  about  nightfall,  we  got 
something  to  eat. 

By  the  way,  this  reminds  me  of  an  incident  that  occurred  on  one 
of  our  long  marches ;  and  I  tell  it  just  to  show  what  sometimes  is  the 
effect  of  short  rations. 

It  was  while  we  were  lying  up  at  Chancellorsville  in  an  immense 
forest  that  our  supply  of  pork  and  hard-tack  began  to  give  out.  We 
had,  indeed,  carried  with  us  into  the  woods  eight  full  days'  rations  in 
our  knapsacks  and  haversacks;  but  it  rained  in  torrents  for  several 
days,  so  that  our  hard-tack  became  mouldy,  the  roads  were  impassable, 
transportation  was  out  of  the  question,  and  we  were  forced  to  put  our- 
selves on  short  allowance. 

"I  wish  I  had  some   meat,   Harry,"  said   Pete    Grove,   anxiously 


130 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 


inspecting  the  contents  of   his   haversack ;    "  I'm   awful   hungry    for 
meat," 

"Well,  Pete,"  said   I,  "I   saw  some   jumping  around  here  pretty 
fively  a  while  ago.     Maybe,  you  could  catch  it." 

"  Meat  jumping  around  here  ?     Why  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why  frogs,  to  be  sure 
—  frogs,  Pete.  Did  you 
never  eat  frogs  ?  " 

"  Bah  !  I  think  I'd  be  a 
great  deal  hungrier  than  I 
am  now,  ever  to  eat  a  frog  ! 
Ugh!  No,  indeed!  But 
where  is  he?  I'd  like  the 
fun  of  hunting  him,  any- 
how." 

So  saying,  he  loaded  his 
revolver,  and  we  sallied  forth 
-    along  the  stream,  and  Pete, 
who  was  a  good  marksman, 
in  a  short  time  had  laid  out 
Mr.  Froggy  at  the  first  shot. 
"  Now,   Pete,   we'll   skin 
him,    and  you    shall  have    a 
feast  fit  for  a  king." 

So,  putting  the  meat  into 

a  tin  cup  with  a  little  water,  salt,  and  pepper,  boiling  it  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  breaking  some  hard-tack  into  it  when  done,  I  set  it 
before  him.  I  need  hardly  say  that  when  he  had  once  tasted  the 
dish  he  speedily  devoured  it,  and  when  he  had  devoured  it,  he 
took  his  revolver  in  hand  again,  and  hunted  frogs  for  the  rest  of  that 
afternoon. 


"I'VE   GOT    HIM,   BOYS." 


THROUGH  "MARYLAND,  MY  MARYLAND."  131 

Drum  and  fife  have  more  to  do  with  the  discipline  of  an  army  than 
an  inexperienced  person  would  imagine.  The  drum  is  the  tongue  of 
the  camp.  It  wakes  the  men  in  the  morning,  mounts  the  guard, 
announces  the  dinner  hour,  gives  a  peculiar  charm  to  dress  parade  in 
the  evening,  and  calls  the  men  to  quarters  with  its  pleasant  tattoo  at 
night.  For  months,  however,  we  had  had  no  drums.  Ours  had  been 
lost,  with  our  knapsacks,  at  Gettysburg.  [And  I  will  here  pause  to 
say  that  if  any  good  friend  across  the  border  has  in  his  possession  a 
snare-drum  with  the  name  and  regiment  of  the  writer  clearly  marked 
on  the  inside  of  the  body,  and  will  return  the  same  to  the  owner 
thereof,  he  will  confer  no  small  favor,  and  will  be  overwhelmed  with 
an  ocean  of  thanks  !] 

We  did  not  know  how  really  important  a  thing  a  drum  is  until,  one 
late  September  day,  we  were  ordered  to  prepare  for  a  dress-parade  —  a 
species  of  regimental  luxury  in  which  we  had  not  indulged  since  the 
early  days  of  June. 

"  Major,  you  don't  expect  us  drummer  boys  to  turn  out,  do 
you?" 

"  Certainly.     And  why  not,  my  boy?  " 

"  Why,  we  have  no  drums,  major  !  " 

"  Well,  your  fifers  have  fifes,  haven't  they  ?  We'll  do  without  the 
drums  ;  but  you  must  all  turn  out,  and  the  fifers  can  play." 

So  when  we  stood  drawn  up  in  line  on  the  parade-ground  among 
the  woods,  and  the  order  was  given,  — 

"  Parade  rest !     Troop,  beat  off !  " 

Out  we  drummers  and  fifers  wheeled  from  the  head  of  the  line, 
with  three  shrill  fifes  screaming  out  the  rolls,  and  started  at  a  slow 
march  down  the  line,  while  every  man  in  the  ranks  grinned,  and  we 
drummer  boys  laughed,  and  the  officers  joined  us,  until  at  last  the 
whole  line,  officers  and  men  alike,  broke  out  into  loud  haw-haws  at  the 
sight.  The  fifers  couldn't  whistle  for  laughing,  and  the  major  ordered 


132  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

us  all  back  to  our  places  when  only  half  down  the  line,  and  never 
even  attempted  another  parade  until  a  full  supply  of  brand  new  drums 
arrived  for  us  from  Washington. 

Then  the  major  picked  out  mine  for  me,  I  remember,  and  it  proved 
to  be  the  best  in  the  lot. 

Speaking  of  drums  and  drumming,  I  am  reminded  of  an  amusing 
incident  said  to  have  occurred  in  one  of  our  regiments — let  it  be 
understood  it  was  not  in  ours.  On  a  march  through  a  certain  town, 
the  drum  corps  had  struck  up  some  lively  music,  when  the  colonel 
noticed  that  one  drummer  boy  was  not  beating  his  drum.  "Adjutant," 
said  he,  "  one  of  the  drummers  is  not  beating.  Go,  find  the  reason 
why."  Riding  up  to  the  musicians  the  adjutant,  with  a  black  military 
frown  on  his  face,  shouted  to  the  boy,  "  The  colonel  wants  to  know 
why  you  are  not  beating  your  drum  ?  "  "  Tell  the  colonel,"  said  the 
culprit,  in  a  whisper  loud  enough  to  be  enjoyed  some  distance  down 
the  line.  "  Tell  the  colonel  that  I  can't  beat  my  drum  now.  I  have 
two  live  turkeys  in  my  drum  —  and  one  of  them  is  for  the  colonel !  " 


Some  brief  mention  of  the  town  of  Waterford  having  been  made 
in  the  foregoing  chapter,  it  may  be  well  to  say  just  a  little  more  about 
it.  After  the  contents  of  this  book  had  first  appeared  in  the  columns 
of  St.  Nicholas,  I  received  a  characteristic  letter  from  a  boy  which  it  may 
interest  the  reader  to  see.  During  the  time  which  elapsed  between 
the  first  and  second  editions  of  these  "Recollections,"  I  received  a 
great  number  of  letters  from  soldiers,  and  their  children,  both  Federal 
and  Confederate,  from  many  of  the  states  in  the  Union,  and  became, 
besides,  a  kind  of  rallying  point,  or  bureau  of  information,  for  the 
scattered  members  of  my  regiment.  But  of  all  the  letters  received, 
none  will  prove  more  interesting  and  enjoyable  to  the  reader  than  the 
following,  — 


THROUGH  "MARYLAND,  MY  MARYLAND."  133 

2d  Mo.  15",  1882. 

To  THE  EDITOR  OP  THE  St.  Nicholas, —  I  have  been  much  inter- 
ested in  reading  "  The  Recollections  of  a  Drummer  Boy."  In  your 
last  number  he  gives  a  sketch  of  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  and  in  their 
return  to  Virginia  he  speaks  of  a  town  in  the  northern  part  of  Vir- 
ginia, by  the  name  of  Waterford.  On  seeing  the  name  of  that  town,  I 
called  my  mother's  attention  to  it.  She  was  very  glad  to  see  it  men- 
tioned, but  was  sorry  that  there  was  not  more  said  about  it.  Mamma 
was  born  there,  and  lived  there  all  through  the  war ;  and  it  was  the 
greatest  Union  town  in  the  South.  Mamma  says  nobody  loved  the 
Union  soldiers  better  than  the  people  of  Waterford.  I  should  think 
she  did,  for  she  married  one  of  them.  Papa  was  a  soldier  in  the  army 
all  through  the  war.  He  was  at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  too,  but 
oame  through  without  a  scratch,  except  the  rheumatism  which  he  got 
in  prison  and  has  had  ever  since.  He  was  under  the  command  of  Gen- 
•eral  Kilpatrick.  But  I  must  come  to  the  object  of  my  letter,  and  that 
is,  whether  in  passing  through  Waterford  he  saw  any  girls  handing 
out  refreshments  to  the  soldiers  ?  Mamma  was  one  of  them.  Please 
forward  this  to  the  Drummer  Boy.  J.  W.  H. 

N.  Y.  City. 

To  these  inquiries  a  prompt  reply  was  sent,  relating  some  things 
about  Waterford  and  our  experiences  in  that  region  not  contained  in 
this  book,  and  stating  also  that  as  for  the  young  ladies  "  handing  out 
refreshments  to  the  soldiers,"  I  had  not  seen  them  :  that  it  was  some- 
how our  regimental  misfortune  always  to  be  either  too  early  or  too 
late  when  such  pleasant  things  came  off :  and  that  on  this  particular 
occasion  we  were  probably  too  early,  inasmuch  as  my  regiment  was  at 
the  head  of  the  column  when  our  command  entered  Waterford,  and,  I 
presume,  the  lemonade  was  not  ready  at  that  time.  However,  for  his 
satisfaction,  it  was  furthermore  stated  that,  as  we  entered  Waterford, 


134  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

our  drum  corps  being  on  the  lead,  a  young  lady  who  had  been  sitting 
on  a  porch  in  front  of  a  house  came  down  on  the  street  and  asked  me 
"  whether  a  certain  New  York  regiment  was  with  us,"  and  that  I  had 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  that  girl  must  have  been  his  mamma,  as 
she  was  a  very  beautiful  girl  indeed. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


PAINS   AND   PENALTIES. 

MONG  all  civilized  nations  the  "rules  of  war"  seem 
to  have  been  written  with  an  iron  hand.     The  laws 
by  which  the  soldier  in  the  field  is  governed  are  of 
necessity  inexorable,  for  strict  discipline  is  the  chief 
'excellence  of  an  army,  and  a  ready  obedience  the 
chief   virtue  of   the  soldier.      Nothing   can    be 
more  admirable  in   the   character   of  the   true 
soldier    than    his    prompt    and    unquestioning 

response  to  the  trumpet-call  of  duty.  The  world  can  never  forget, 
nor  ever  sufficiently  admire,  a  Leonidas,  with  his  three  hundred  Spar- 
tans, at  Thermopylae,  the  Roman  soldier  on  guard  at  the  gates  of  the 
perishing  Pompeii,  or  the  gallant  six  hundred  charging  into  the 
"  valley  of  death  "  at  Balaklava.  Disobedience  to  orders  is  the  great 
sin  of  the  soldier,  and  one  that  is  sure  to  be  punished,  for  at  no  other 
time  does  Justice  wear  so  stern  and  severe  a  look  as  when  she  sits 
•enthroned  amidst  the  camps  of  armed  men. 

In  different  sections  of  the  army,  various  expedients  were  resorted 
to  for  the  purpose  of  correcting  minor  offences.  What  particular 
shape  the  punishment  should  assume  depended  very  much  upon  the 
inventive  faculty  of  the  Field  and  Staff,  or  of  such  officers  of  the  line 
as  might  have  charge  of  the  case. 

Before  taking  the  field,  a  few  citizen  sneak  thieves  were  discovered 
prowling  amongst  the  tents.  These  were  promptly  drummed  out  of 
camp  to  the  tune  of  the  "  Rogue's  March,"  the  whole  regiment  shout- 

135 


136 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 


ing  in  derision  as  the  miserable  fellows  took  to  their  heels  when  the 
procession  reached  the  limits  of  the  camp,  where  they  were  told  to 
begone,  and  never  show  their  faces  in  camp  any  more,  on  pain 
of  a  more  severe  treatment. 

If,   as  very  seldom  happened,  it  was  an   enlisted  man  who  was 
caught   stealing,  he    was    often    punished    in    the   following   way:  A 


DRUMMING    SNEAK-THIEVES   OUT   OF    CAMP. 


barrel,  having  one  end  knocked  out  and  a  hole  in  the  other  large 
enough  to  allow  one's  head  to  go  through,  was  slipped  over  the 
culprit's  shoulders.  On  the  outside  of  the  barrel  the  word  THIEF  ! 
was  printed  in  large  letters.  In  this  dress  he  presented  the  ludicrous 
appearance  of  an  animated  meal  barrel ;  for  you  could  see  nothing  of 
him  but  his  head  and  legs,  his  hands  being  very  significantly  confined. 
Sometimes  he  was  obliged  to  stand  or  sit  (as  'best  he  could)  about  the 


PAINS  AND  PENALTIES.  137 

guardhouse,  or  near  by  the  colonel's  quarters,  all  day  long.  At  other 
times  he  was  compelled  to  march  through  the  company  streets  and 
make  the  tour  of  the  camp  under  guard. 

Once  in  the  field,  however,  sneak  thieves  soon  disappeared.  Nor 
was  there  frequent  occasion  to  punish  the  men  for  any  other  offences. 
Nearly,  if  not  quite  all  of  the  punishments  inflicted  in  the  field  were 
for  disobedience  in  some  form  or  other.  Not  that  the  men  were  wil- 
fully disobedient.  Far  from  it.  They  knew  very  well  that  they  must 
obey,  and  that  the  value  of  their  services  was  measured  wholly  by  the 
quality  of  their  obedience.  I^fc  very  rarely  happened,  even  amid  the 
greatest  fatigue  after  a  hard  day's  march,  or  in  the  face  of  the  most  im- 
minent danger,  that  any  one  refused  his  duty.  But  after  a  long  and 
severe  march,  a  man  is  so  completely  exhausted  that  he  is  likely 
to  become  irritable,  and  to  manifest  a  temper  quite  foreign  to  his 
usual  habit.  He  is  then  not  himself,  and  may  in  such  circumstances 
do  what  at  other  times  he  would  not  think  of  doing. 

Thus  it  once  happened  in  my  own  company  that  one  of  the  boys 
took  it  into  his  head  to  kick  over  the  traces.  We  had  had  a  long,  hot 
day's  march  through  Maryland,  on  the  way  down  from  Gettysburg,  and 
were  quite  worn  out.  About  midnight  we  halted  in  a  clover  field  on 
a  hillside,  for  rest  and  sleep.  Corporal  Harter,  who  was  the  only  officer, 
commissioned  or  non-commissioned,  that  we  had  left  to  us  after  Get- 
tysburg, called  out,  — 

"  John  D ,  report  to  the  adjutant  for  camp  guard." 

Now  John,  who  was  a  German  by  the  way,  did  not  like  the 
prospect  of  losing  his  sleep,  and  had  to  be  summoned  a  second  time 
before  replying. 

"  Corporal,  ich  thu's  es  net !  "     (Corporal,  I  won't  do  it.) 
Tired  though  we  all  were,  we  could  not   help   laughing   at   the 
preposterous  idea  of  a  man  daring  to  disobey  the  corporal.     As  the 
boys  jerked  off  their  accoutrements  and  began  to  spread  down  their 


138  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

gum  blankets  on  the  fragrant  clover,  wet  with  the   dew,  they  were 
greatly  amused  at  this  singular  passage  between  John  and  the  corporal. 

"Come  on,  John.  Don't  make  a  Dutch  dunce  of  yourself.  You 
know  you  must  go." 

"  Ich  hab'  dir  g'sawt,  ich  thu's  es  net,"  (I  have  told  you  I  won't  do 
it,)  insisted  John. 

"  Pitch  in,  John ! "  shouted  some  one  from  his  bed  in  the  clover. 
"  Give  it  to  him  in  Dutch ;  that'll  fetch  him." 

"  Oh,  hang  it !  "  said  the  corporal.  "  Come  on,  man.  What 
do  you  mean  ?  You  know  you've  got  to  go." 

"Ich  hab'  dir  zwei  mohl  g'sawt,  ich  thu's  es  gar  net."     (I  have  told 
you  twice  that  I  will  certainly  not  do  it.) 

"  Ha  !  ha  !     It  beats  the  Dutch  !  "  said  some  one. 

"  Something  rotten  in  Denmark  !  "  exclaimed  another. 

"  Put  him  in  the  guard-house  !  "  suggested  a  third,  from  under  his 
gum  blanket. 

"  Plague  take  the  thing  !  "  said  the  corporal,  perplexed.  "  Pointer," 
continued  he,  "put  on  your  accoutrements  again,  get  your  gun,  and 
take  John,  under  arrest,  to  the  adjutant." 

"  Come  on,  John,"  said  Pointer,  buckling  on  his  belt,  "  and  be 
mighty  quick  about  it,  too.  I  don't  want  to  stand  about  here  arguing 
all  night ;  I  want  to  get  to  roost.  Come  along  !  " 

The  men  leaned  up  on  their  elbows,  in  their  beds  on  the  clover, 
interested  in  knowing  how  John  would  take  that. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  scratching  his  head,  and  taking  his  gun  in  hand, 
"  Corporal,  ich  glaub'  ich  det  besser  geh."  (Corporal,  I  guess 
I'd  better  go.) 

"  Yes,"  said  Pointer,  with  a  drawl,  "  I  guess  you  *  besser '  had,  or 
the  major  '11  make  short  work  with  you  and  your  Dutch.  What  in  the 
name  of  General  Jackson  did  you  come  to  the  army  for,  if  you  ain't 
agoing  to  obey  orders  ?  " 


PAINS  AND  PENALTIES.  139 

If  while  we  were  lying  in  camp  a  man  refused  his  duty,  he  was  at 
once  haled  to  the  guard-house,  which  is  the  military  name  for  lockup. 
Once  there,  at  the  discretion  of  the  officers,  he  was  either  simply  con- 
fined, and  put  on  bread  and  water,  or  maybe  ordered  to  carry  a  log  of 
wood,  or  a  knapsack  filled  with  stones,  "  two  hours  on  and  two  off," 
day  and  night,  until  such  time  as  he  was  deemed  to  have  done  suffi- 
cient penance.  In  more  extreme  cases  a  court-martial  was  held,  and 
the  penalty  of  forfeiture  of  all  pay  due,  with  hard  labor  for  thirty 
days,  or  the  like,  was  inflicted. 

"  Tying  up  by  the  thumb,"  was  sometimes  adopted.  Down  in  front 
of  Petersburg,  out  along  the  Weldon  railroad,  I  once  saw  thirteen 
colored  soldiers  tied  up  by  their  thumbs  at  a  time.  Between  two  pine 
saplings  a  long  pole  had  been  thrown  across  and  fastened  at  either 
end  about  seven  feet  from  the  ground.  To  this  pole  thirteen  ropes 
had  been  attached  at  regular  intervals,  and  to  each  rope  a  darkey  was 
tied  by  the  thumb  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  just  touch  the  ground 
with  his  heel  and  keep  the  rope  taut.  If  any  one  will  try  the  experi- 
ment of  holding  up  his  arm  in  such  a  position  for  only  five  minutes,  he 
will  appreciate  the  force  of  the  punishment  of  being  tied  up  by  the 
thumbs  for  a  half  day. 

In-  some  regiments  they  had  a  high  wooden  horse,  which  the 
offender  was  made  to  mount ;  and  there  he  was  kept  for  hours  in  a 
seat  as  conspicuous  as  it  was  uncomfortable. 

One  day,  down  in  front  of  Petersburg,  a  number  of  us  had  been 
making  a  friendly  call  on  some  acquaintances  over  in  another  regi- 
ment. As  we  were  returning  home,  we  came  across  what  we  took  to 
be  a  well,  and  wishing  a  drink  we  all  stopped.  The  well  in  question, 
as  was  usual  there,  was  nothing  but  a  barrel  sunk  in  the  ground ;  for 
at  some  places  the  ground  was  so  full  of  springs  that,  in  order  to  get 
water,  all  you  had  to  do  was  to  sink  a  box  or  barrel,  and  the  water 
would  collect  of  its  own  accord.  Stooping  down  and  looking  into  the 


140  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

well  in  question,  Andy  discovered  a  man  standing  in  the  well  and  bal- 
ing out  the  water. 

"  What's  he  doing  down  there  in  that  hole  ?  "  asked  some  one  of 
our  company. 

"  He  says  he's  in  the  gopher-hole,"  said  Andy,  with  a  grin. 

"  Gopher-hole  !     What's  a  gopher-hole  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  guard,  who  was  standing  near  by,  and  whom  we 
had  taken  for  the  customary  guard  on  the  spring,  "  you  see,  comrades, 
our  colonel  has  his  own  way  of  punishin'  the  boys.  One  thing  he 
won't  let 'em  do — he  won't  let  'em  get  drunk.  They  may  drink  as 
much  as  they  want,  but  they  must  not  get  drunk.  If  they  do,  they  go 
into  the  gopher-hole.  Jim,  there,  is  in  the  gopher-hole  now.  That 
hole  has  a  spring  in  the  bottom,  and  the  water  comes  in  pretty  fast ; 
and  if  Jim  wants  to  keep  dry  he's  got  to  keep  dippin'  all  the  time,  or 
else  stand  in  the  water  up  to  his  neck  —  and  Jim  isn't  so  mighty  fond 
o'  water  neither." 

Late  in  the  fall  of  1863,  while  we  were  lying  in  camp  somewhere 
among  the  pine  woods  along  the  Orange  and  Alexandria  Railroad,  we 
were  one  day  marched  out  to  witness  the  execution  of  a  deserter. 
Instances  of  desertion  to  the  enemy's  lines  were  extremely  rare  with 
us  ;  but  whenever  they  occurred,  the  unfortunate  offenders,  if  caught, 
were  dealt  with  in  the  most  summary  manner,  for  the  doom  of  the 
deserter  is  death. 

The  poor  fellow  who  was  to  suffer  the  highest  penalty  of  military 
law  on  the  present  occasion  was,  we  were  informed,  a  Maryland  boy. 
Some  months  previously  he  had  deserted  his  regiment  for  some  cause 
or  other,  and  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy.  Unfortunately  for  him,  it 
happened  that  in  one  of  the  numerous  skirmishes  we  were  engaged  in 
about  that  time,  he  was  taken  prisoner,  in  company  with  a  number  of 
Confederate  soldiers.  Unfortunately,  also,  for  the  poor  fellow,  it 
chanced  that  he  was  captured  by  the  very  company  from  which  he  had 


PAINS  AND  PENALTIES.  141 

deserted.  The  disguise  of  a  Confederate  uniform,  which  might  have 
stood  him  in  good  stead  had  he  fallen  into  any  other  hands,  was  now 
of  no  avail.  He  was  at  once  recognized  by  his  former  comrades  in 
arms,  tried  by  court-martial,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  be  shot. 

So,  one  October  morning,  orders  came  to  the  effect  that  the  whole 
division  was  to  turn  out  at  one  o'clock,  to  witness  the  execution  of  the 
sentence.  I  need  hardly  say  that  this  was  most  unwelcome  news. 
Nobody  wished  to  see  so  sad  a  sight.  Some  of  the  men  begged  to  be 
excused  from  attendance,  and  others  could  not  be  found  when  our 
drums  beat  the  "  assembly  "  ;  for  none  could  well  endure,  as  they  said, 
"  to  see  a  man  shot  down  like  a  dog."  It  was  one  thing  to  shoot  a 
fellow  mortal,  or  to  see  him  shot,  in  battle ;  but  this  was  quite  a  dif- 
ferent thing.  A  squad  of  men  had  been  detailed  to  shoot  the  poor 
fellow,  Elias  Foust,  of  our  company,  being  among  the  number.  But 
Elias,  to  his  credit  be  it  recorded,  begged  off,  and  had  some  one  else 
appointed  in  his  stead.  One  could  not  help  but  pity  the  men  who 
were  assigned  to  this  most  unpleasant  duty,  for  if  it  be  painful  only  to 
see  a  man  shot,  what  must  it  not  be  to  shoot  him  with  your  own  hand? 
However,  in  condescension  to  this  altogether  natural  and  humane 
aversion  to  the  shedding  of  blood,  and  in  order  to  render  the  task  as 
endurable  as  possible,  the  customary  practice  was  observed  :  —  On  the 
morning  of  the  execution  an  officer,  who  had  been  appointed  for  the 
purpose,  took  a  number  of  rifles,  some  twelve  or  fourteen  in  number, 
and  loaded  all  of  them  carefully  with  powder  and  ball,  except  one,  this 
one  being  loaded  with  blank  cartridge,  that  is,  with  powder  only.  He 
then  mixed  the  guns  so  thoroughly  that  he  himself  could  scarcely  tell 
which  guns  were  loaded  with  ball  and  which  one  was  not.  Another 
officer  then  distributed  the  guns  to  the  men,  not  one  of  whom  could 
be  at  all  certain  whether  his  particular  gun  contained  a  ball  or  not, 
and  all  of  whom  could  avail  themselves  of  the  full  benefit  of  the  doubt 
in  the  case. 


142  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

It  was  one  of  those  peculiarly  impressive  autumn  days  when  all 
that  one  sees  or  hears  conspires  to  fill  the  mind  with  an  indefinable 
feeling  of  sadness.  There  was  the  chirp  of  the  cricket  in  the  air,  and 
the  far-away  chorus  of  the  myriads  of  insects  complaining  that  the  year 
was  done.  There  was  all  the  impressiveness  of  a  dull  sky,  a  dreamy 
haze  over  the  field,  a  yellow  and  brown  tinge  on  the  forest,  accom- 
panied by  that  peculiarly  mournful  wail  of  the  breeze  as  it  sighed  and 
moaned  dolefully  among  the  branches  of  the  pines,  —  all  joining  in 
chanting  a  requiem,  it  seemed  to  me,  for  the  poor  Maryland  boy  whose 
sands  were  fast  running  out. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  division  marched  out  and  took  position 
in  a  large  field,  or  clearing,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  pine  woods. 
We  were  drawn  up  so  as  to  occupy  three  sides  of  a  great  hollow 
square,  two  ranks  deep  and  facing  inward,  the  fourth  side  of  the 
square,  where  we  could  see  that  a  grave  had  been  recently  dug,  being 
left  open  for  the  execution.  Scarcely  were  we  well  in  position,  when 
there  came  to  our  ears,  wafted  by  the  sighing  autumn  wind,  the 
mournful  notes  of  the  "  Dead  March."  Looking  away  in  the  direction 
whence  the  music  came,  we  could  see  a  long  procession  marching  sadly 
and  slowly  to  the  measured  stroke  of  the  muffled  drum.  First  came 
the  band,  playing  the  dirge  ;  next,  the  squad  of  executioners ;  then  a 
pine  coffin,  carried  by  four  men  ;  then  the  prisoner  himself,  dressed  in 
black  trousers  and  white  shirt,  and  marching  in  the  midst  of  four 
guards ;  then  a  number  of  men  under  arrest  for  various  offences,  who 
had  been  brought  out  for  the  sake  of  the  moral  effect  it  was  hoped  this 
spectacle  might  have  upon  them.  Last  of  all  came  a  strong  guard. 

When  the  procession  had  come  up  to  the  place  where  the  division 
was  formed,  and  had  reached  the  open  side  of  the  hollow  square,  it 
wheeled  to  the  left  and  marched  all  along  the  inside  of  the  line,  from 
the  right  to  the  left,  the  band  still  playing  the  dirge.  The  line  was 
long,  and  the  step  was  slow,  and  it  seemed  that  they  never  would  get 


PAINS  AND  PENALTIES.  143 

to  the  other  end.  But  at  long  last,  after  having  solemnly  traversed  the 
entire  length  of  the  three  sides  of  the  hollow  square,  the  procession 
came  to  the  open  side  of  it,  opposite  to  the  point  from  which  it  had 
started.  The  escort  wheeled  off.  The  prisoner  was  placed  before  his 
coffin,  which  was  set  down  in  front  of  his  grave.  The  squad  of  twelve 
or  fourteen  men  who  were  to  shoot  the  unfortunate  man  took  position 
some  ten  or  twelve  yards  from  the  grave,  facing  the  prisoner,  and  a 
chaplain  stepped  out  from  the  group  of  division  officers  near  by,  and 
prayed  with  and  for  the  poor  fellow  a  long,  long  time.  Then  the 
bugle  sounded.  The  prisoner,  standing  proudly  erect  before  his  grave, 
had  his  eyes  bandaged,  and  calmly  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast. 
The  bugle  sounded  again.  The  officer  in  charge  of  the  squad  stepped 
forward.  Then  we  heard  the  command,  given  as  calmly  as  if  on 
drill,  — 

"  Ready  ! " 

"  Aim  !  " 

Then,  drowning  out  the  third  command,  "  Fire  ! "  came  a  flash  of 
smoke  and  a  loud  report.  The  surgeons  ran  up  to  the  spot.  The 
bands  and  drum  corps  of  the  division  struck  up  a  quickstep  as 
the  division  faced  to  the  right,  and  marched  past  the  grave  in  order 
that  in  the  dead  form  of  its  occupant  we  might  all  see  that  the  doom 
of  the  deserter  is  death.  It  was  a  sad  sight.  As  we  moved  along, 
many  a  rough  fellow,  from  whom  you  would  hardly  have  expected  any 
sign  of  pity,  pretending  to  be  adjusting  his  cap  so  as  to  screen  his  eyes 
from  the  glare  of  the  westering  sun,  could  be  seen  furtively  drawing 
his  hand  across  his  face  and  dashing  away  the  tears  that  could  not  be 
kept  from  trickling  down  the  bronzed  and  weatherbeaten  cheek.  As 
we  marched  off  the  field,  we  could  not  help  being  sensible  of  the  harsh 
contrast  between  the  lively  music  to  which  our  feet  were  keeping  step, 
and  the  fearfully  solemn  scene  we  had  just  witnessed.  The  transition 
from  the  "  Dead  March "  to  the  quickstep  was  quite  too  sudden.  A 


144 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 


deep  solemnity  pervaded  the  ranks  as  we  marched  homeward  across 
the  open  field  and  into  the  sombre  pine  woods  beyond,  thinking,  as  we 
went,  of  the  poor  fellow's  home,  somewhere  among  the  pleasant  hills  of 
Maryland,  and  of  the  sad  and  heavy  hearts  there  would  be  there  when 
it  was  known  that  he  had  paid  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A   TALE   OF   A   SQUIRREL   AND   THREE   BLIND   MICE. 

"  ANDY,  what  is  a  shade-tail  ?  " 

We  were  encamped  in  an  oak  forest,  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the 
Rappahannock,  late  in  the  fall  of  1863.  We  had  built  no  winter 
quarters  yet,  although  the  nights  were  growing  rather  frosty,  and  had 
to  content  ourselves  with  our  little  "  dog  tents,"  as  we  called  our 
shelters,  some  dozen  or  so  of  which  now  constitued  our  company  row. 
I  had  just  come  in  from  a  trip  through  the  woods,  in  quest  of  water  at 
a  spring  near  an  old  deserted  log-house,  about  a  half  mile  to  the  south 
of  our  camp,  when,  throwing  down  my  heavy  canteens,  I  made  the 
above  interrogatory  of  my  chum. 

Andy  was  lazily  lying  at  full  length  on  his  back  in  the  tent,  reclin- 
ing on  a  soft  bed  of  pine  branches,  or  "  Virginia  feathers,"  as  we  called 
them,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  lustily  singing,  — 

"  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp !   the  boys  are  marching ! 
Cheer  up,  comrades,  they  will  come ! 
And  beneath  the  starry  flag 
We  shall  breathe  the  air  again  —  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  he,  ceasing  his  song  before  finishing  the 
stanza,  and  rising  up  on  his  elbow. 

"I  asked  whether  you  could  tell  me  what  a  shade-tail  is?" 

"  A  shade-tail !     Never  heard  of  it  before.     Don't  believe  there  is 

any  such  thing.     I  know  what  a  bucktail  is,  though.     There's  one," 

said  he,  pulling  a  fine  specimen  out  from  under  his  knapsack.     "  That 

just  came  in  the   mail,  while  you  were  gone.      The  old  buck  that 

145 


146  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

chased  the  flies  with  that  brush  for  many  a  year,  was  shot  up  among 
the  Buffalo  mountains  last  winter,  and  my  father  bought  his  tail  of  the 
man  who  killed  him,  and  has  sent  it  to  me.  It  cost  him  just  one 
dollar." 

Bucktails  were  in  great  demand  with  us  in  those  days,  and  happy 
indeed  was  the  man  who  could  secure  so  fine  a  specimen  as  Andy  now 
proudly  held  in  his  hand. 

"  But  isn't  it  rather  large  ? "  inquired  I.  "  And  it's  nearly  all 
white,  and  would  make  an  excellent  mark  for  some  Johnny  to  shoot 
at,  eh  ?  " 

"  Never  you  fear  for  that.  '  Old  Trusty  '  up  there,"  said  he,  point- 
ing to  his  gun  hanging  along  underneath  the  ridge-pole  of  the  tent,  — 
" '  Old  Trusty  '  and  I  will  take  care  of  Johnny  Reb." 

"  But,  Andy,"  continued  I,  "  you  haven't  answered  my  question 
yet.  What  is  a  shade  tail  ?  " 

"  A  shade  tail, "  said  he  meditatively,  —  "  how  should  I  know  ?  I 
know  precious  well  what  a  detail  is,  though ;  and  I'm  on  one  for 
to-morrow.  We  go  across  the  river  to  throw  up  breastworks." 

"  I  forgot,"  said  I,  "  that  you  have  not  studied  Greek  to  any  extent 
yet.  If  you  live  to  get  home  and  go  back  to  school  again  at  the  old 
Academy,  and  begin  to  dig  Greek  roots  in  earnest,  you  will  find  that  a 
shade  tail  is  a— squirrel.  For  that  is  what  the  old  Greeks  called  the 
bonny  bush  tail.  Because,  don't  you  see,  when  a  squirrel  sits  up  on  a 
tree  with  his  tail  turned  up  over  his  back,  he  makes  a  shade  for  him- 
self with  his  tail,  and  sits,  as  it  were,  under  the  shadow  of  his  own  vine 
and  fig  tree." 

"  Well,"  said  Andy,  « and  what  if  he  does  ?  What's  to  hinder 
him?" 

"  Nothing,"  answered  I,  entering  the  tent  and  lying  down  beside 
him  on  the  pile  of  Virginia  feathers  ;  "  only  I  saw  one  out  here  in  the 
woods  as  I  came  along,  and  I  think  I  know  where  his  nest  is  ;  and  if 


A   SQUIRREL  AND   THREE  BLIND  MICE.  147 

you  and  I  can  catch  him,  or,  what  would  be  better  still,  if  we  can  cap- 
ture one  of  his  young  ones,  if  he  has  any,  why  we  might  tame  him  and 
keep  him  for  a  pet.  I've  often  thought  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  us 
to  have  a  pet  of  some  kind  or  other.  Over  in  the  Second  Division 
there  is  one  regiment  that  has  a  pet  crow,  and  another  has  a  kitten. 
They  go  with  the  men  on  all  their  marches,  and  they  say  that  the 
kitten  has  actually  been  wounded  in  battle,  and  no  doubt  will  be 
taken  or  sent  up  North  some  day  and  be  a  great  curiosity.  Now  why 
couldn't  we  catch  and  tame  a  shade  tail  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Andy,  becoming  a  little  interested ;  "  he  could  be 
taught  to  perch  on  Pointer's  buck  horns  in  camp,  and  could  ride  on 
your  drum  on  the  march." 

Pointer,  you  must  know,  was  the  tallest  man  in  the  company,  and 
therefore  stood  at  the  head  of  the  line  when  the  company  was  formed. 
When  we  enlisted,  he  brought  with  him  a  pair  of  deer  antlers  as  an 
appropriate  symbol  for  a  Buck  tail  company,  —  no  doubt  with  the 
intention  of  making  both  ends  meet.  Now  the  idea  of  having  a  live 
tame  squirrel  to  perch  on  Pointer's  buck  horns  was  a  capital  one 
indeed. 

But  as  the  first  thing  to  be  done  in  cooking  a  hare  is  to  catch  the 
hare,  so  we  concluded  that  the  first  thing  to  be  done  in  taming  a 
squirrel  was  to  catch  the  squirrel.  This  gave  us  a  world  of  thought. 
It  would  not  do  to  shoot  him.  We  could  not  trap  him.  After  dis- 
cussing the  merits  of  smoking  him  out  of  his  hole,  we  determined  at 
last  to  risk  cutting  down  the  tree  in  which  he  had  his  home,  and  try- 
ing to  catch  him  in  a  bag. 

That  afternoon,  when  we  thought  he  would  likely  be  at  home 
taking  a  nap,  having  provided  ourselves  with  an  axe,  an  old  oat 
bag,  and  a  lot  of  tent  rope,  we  cautiously  proceeded  to  the  old 
beech  tree  on  the  outskirts  of  the  camp,  where  our  intended  pet  had 
his  home. 


148  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 

"  Now,  you  see,  Andy,"  said  I,  pointing  up  to  a  crotch  in  the  tree,, 
"up  there  is  his  front  door ;  there  he  goes  out  and  comes  in.  My  plan 
is  this :  one  of  us  must  climb  the  tree  and  tie  the  mouth  of  the  bag 
over  that  hole  somehow,  and  come  down.  Then  we  will  cut  the  tree 
down,  and  when  it  falls,  if  old  shade  tail  is  at  home,  like  as  not  he'll 
run  into  the  bag;  and  then,  if  we  can  be  quick  enough,  we  can  tie  a 
string  around  the  bag,  and  there  he  is  !  " 

Andy  climbed  the  tree  and  tied  the  bag.  After  he  had  descended, 
we  set  vigorously  to  work  at  cutting  down  the  beech.  It  took  us 
about  half  an  hour  to  make  any  serious  inroad  upon  the  tough  trunk. 
But  by  and  by  we  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  tree  apparently 
shiver  under  our  blows,  and  at  last  down  it  came  with  a  crash. 

We"  both  ran  toward  the  bag  as  fast  as  we  could,  ready  to  secure 
our  prize ;  but  we  found,  alas !  that  squirrels  sometimes  have  two 
doors  to  their  houses,  and  that  while  we  had  hoped  to  bag  our  bush 
tail  at  the  front  door,  he  had  merrily  skipped  out  the  back  way.  For 
scarcely  had  the  tree  reached  the  ground,  when  we  both  beheld  our 
intended  pet  leaping  out  of  the  branches  and  running  up  a  neighboring 
tree  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

"  Plague  take  it !  "  said  Andy,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
face,  "  what  shall  we  do  now  ?  I  guess  you'd  better  run  to  camp  and 
get  a  little  salt  to  throw  on  his  tail." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I,  "  we'll  get  him  yet,  see  if  we  don't.  I  see 
him  up  there  behind  that  old  dry  limb  peeping  out  at  us  —  there  he 
goes  ! " 

Sure  enough,  there  he  did  go,  from  tree  top  to  tree  top,  "  lickerty 
skoot,"  as  Andy  afterward  expressed  it,  and  we  after  him,  quite  losing 
our  heads,  and  shouting  like  Indians. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  our  shade  tail  was  making  straight  for 
the  camp,  on  the  outskirts  of  which  he  was  discovered  by  one  of  the 
men,  who  instantly  gave  the  alarm  —  "A  squirrel !  a  squirrel ! "  In  a 


A   SQUIRREL  AND   THREE  BLIND  MICE.  149 

moment  all  the  boys  in  camp  not  on  duty  came  running  pell-mell, 
Sergeant  Kensill's  black  and  tan  terrier,  Little  Jim,  of  whom  more 
anon,  leading  the  way.  I  suppose  there  must  have  been  about  a 
hundred  men  together,  and  all  yelling  and  shouting  too,  so  that  the 
poor  squirrel  checked  his  headlong  course  high  up  on  the  dead  limb  of 
a  great  old  oak  tree.  Then,  forming  a  circle  around  the  tree,  with 
"  Little  Jim  "  in  the  midst,  the  boys  began  to  shout  and  yell  as  when 
on  the  charge, — 

"  Yi-yi-yi !     Yi-yi-yi !  " 

Whereat  the  poor  squirrel  was  so  terrified,  that,  leaping  straight  up 
and  out  from  his  perch  into  open  space,  in  sheer  affright  and  despair, 
down  he  came  tumbling,  tail  over  head,  into  the  midst  of  the  circle, 
which  rapidly  closed  about  him  as  he  neared  the  ground.  With  yells 
and  cheers  that  made  the  wood  ring,  a  hundred  hands  were  stretched 
out  as  if  to  catch  him  as  he  came  down.  But  Little  Jim  beat  them  all. 
True  to  his  terrier  blood  and  training,  he  suddenly  leaped  up  like  a 
shot,  seized  the  squirrel  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  gave  him  a  few 
angry  shakes,  which  ended  his  agony,  and  carried  him  off  triumph- 
antly in  his  mouth  to  the  tent  of  his  owner,  Sergeant  Kensill,  of 
Company  F. 

That  evening,  as  we  sat  in  our  tent  eating  our  fried  hard-tack, 
Andy  remarked,  while  sipping  his  coffee  from  his  black  tin  cup,  that  if 
buck  tails  were  as  hard  to  catch  as  shade  tails,  they  were  well  worth  a 
dollar  apiece  any  day ;  and  that  he  believed  a  crow,  or  one  of  those 
young  pigs  we  found  running  wild  in  the  woods  when  we  came  to  that 
camp,  or  something  of  that  sort,  would  make  a  better  pet  than  a 
squirrel. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  we  caught  those  pigs,  anyhow,  didn't  we  ?  But 
didn't  they  squeal !  Fortunately,  they  were  so  much  like  oysters  that 
they  couldn't  get  away  from  us,  and  all  found  their  way  into  our 
frying-pans  at  last." 


150  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  I  fail  to  apprehend  your  meaning,"  said  Andy,  with  mock  gravity, 
setting  down  his  black  tin  cup  on  the  gum  blanket.  "  By  what  right 
or  authority,  sir,  do  you  presume  to  tell  me  that  a  pig  is  like  an 
oyster  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  see  ?  A  pig  is  like  an  oyster  because  he  cant 
climb  a  tree  !  And  that's  the  reason  why  we  caught  him." 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  Andy  ;  "  that's  a  miserable  joke,  that  is." 

"  Yet  you  must  admit  that  it  is  a  most  happy  circumstance  that  a 
pig  cannot  climb  a  tree,  or  we  should  have  missed  more  than  one  good 
meal  of  fresh  pork.  Yet  although  we  failed  to  make  a  pet  of  the 
squirrel  because  he  could  climb  a  tree,  and  of  the  pig  because  he  could 
not,  we  shall  make  a  pet  of  something  or  other  yet.  Of  that  I  am 
certain." 

It  was  some  months  later,  and  not  until  we  were  safely  established 
in  winter  quarrers,  that  we  finally  succeeded  in  our  purpose  of  having 
something  to  pet.  I  was  over  at  brigade  headquarters  one  day,  visiting 
a  friend  who  had  charge  of  several  supply  wagons.  Being  present 
while  he  was  engaged  in  overhauling  his  stores,  I  found  in  the  bottom 
of  a  large  box,  in  which  blankets  had  been  packed  away,  a  whole 
family  of  mice.  The  father  of  the  family  promptly  made  his  escape  ; 
the  mother  was  killed  in  the  capture,  -and  one  little  fellow  was 
so  injured  that  he  soon  died ;  but  the  rest,  three  in  number,  I  took  out 
unhurt.  As  I  laid  them  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  they  at  once  struck 
me  as  perfect  little  beauties.  They  were  very  }roung  and  quite  small, 
being  no  larger  than  the  end  of  my  finger,  with  scarcely  any  fur 
on  them,  and  their  eyes  quite  shut.  Putting  them  into  my  pocket,  and 
covering  them  with  some  cotton  which  my  friend  gave  me,  I  started 
home  with  my  prize.  Stopping  at  the  surgeon's  quarters  on  reaching 
camp,  I  begged  a  large  empty  bottle  (which  I  afterward  found  had 
been  lately  filled  with  pulverized  gum  arabic),  and  somewhere  secured 
an  old  tin  can  of  the  same  diameter  as  the  bottle.  Then  I  got  a  strong 


A    SQUIRREL   AND   THREE  BLIND  MICE.  151 

twine,  went  down  to  my  tent,  and  asked  Andy  to  help  me  make  a  cage 
for  my  pets,  which  with  pride  I  took  out  of  my  pocket  and  set  to 
crawling  and  nosing  about  on  the  warm  blankets  on  the  bunk. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  bottle  ?  "  inquired  Andy. 

"  Going  to  cut  it  in  two  with  this  string,"  said  I,  holding  up  my 
piece  of  twine. 

"  Can't  be  done  !  "  asserted  he. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  answered  I. 

Procuring  a  mess  pan  full  of  cold  water,  and  placing  it  on  the  floor 
of  the  tent,  near  the  bunk  on  which  we  were  sitting,  I  wound  the 
twine  once  around  the  bottle,  a  few  inches  from  the  bottom,  in  such  a 
way  that  Andy  could  hold  one  end  of  the  bottle  and  pull  one  end  of 
the  twine  one  way,  while  I  held  the  other  end  of  the  bottle  and  pulled 
the  other  end  of  the  twine  the  other  way,  thus  causing  the  twine,  by 
means  of  its  rapid  friction,  to  heat  the  bottle  in  a  narrow,  straight  line 
all  around.  After  sawing  away  in  this  style  for  several  minutes,  I 
suddenly  plunged  the  bottle  into  the  pan  of  cold  water,  when  it  at 
once  snapped  in  two  along  the  line  where  the  twine  had  passed  around 
it,  and  as  clean  and  clear  as  if  it  had  been  cut  by  a  diamond.  Then, 
melting  off  the  top  of  the  old  tin  can  by  holding  it  in  the  fire,  I  fast- 
ened the  body  of  the  can  on  the  lower  end  of  the  bottle.  When 
finished,  the  whole  arrangement  looked  like  a  large,  long  bottle,  the 
upper  part  of  which  was  glass  and  the  lower  tin.  In  this  way  I 
accomplished  the  double  purpose  of  providing  my  pets  with  a  dark 
chamber  and  a  well-lighted  apartment,  at  the  same  time  preventing 
them  from  running  away.  Placing  some  cotton  on  the  inside  of  both 
can  and  bottle,  for  a  bed,  and  thrusting  a  small  sponge,  moistened  with 
sweetened  water,  into  the  neck  of  the  bottle,  I  then  put  my  pets  into 
their  new  home.  Of  course  they  could  not  see,  for  their  eyes  were 
not  yet  open ;  neither  did  they,  at  first,  seem  to  know  how  to  eat ;  but 
as  necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention,  with  mice  as  well  as  with 


152  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

men,  they  soon  learned  to  toddle  forward  to  the  neck  of  the  bottle 
and  suck  their  sweet  sponge.  In  a  short  time  they  learned  also  to 
nibble  at  a  bit  of  apple,  and  by  and  by  could  crunch  their  hard-tack 
like  veritable  veterans. 

The  bottle,  as  has  already  been  said,  had  been  filled  with  pulver- 
ized gum  arabic,  Some  of  this  still  adhering  to  the  inside  of  the 
bottle,  was  gradually  brushed  off  by  their  growing  fur;  and  it  was 
amusing  to  see  the  little  things  sit  on  their  haunches  and  clean  them- 
selves of  the  sticky  substance.  Sometimes  they  would  all  three  be 
busy  at  the  same  time,  each  at  himself ;  and  again,  two  of  them  would 
take  to  licking  the  third,  rubbing  their  little  red  noses  all  over  him, 
from  head  to  tail,  in  the  most  amusing  way  imaginable. 

Gradually,  they  grew  very  lively,  and  became  quite  tame,  so  that 
we  could  take  them  out  of  their  house  into  our  hands,  and  let  them 
hunt  about  in  our  pockets  for  apple  seeds  or  pieces  of  hard-tack.  We 
called  them  Jack,  Jill,  and  Jenny,  and  they  seemed  to  know  their 
names.  When  let  out  of  their  cage  occasionally,  for  a  romp  on  the 
blankets,  they  would  climb  over  everything,  running  along  the  inner 
edge  of  the  eave  boards  and  the  ridgepole,  but  never  succeeded  in 
getting  away  from  us.  It  was  a  comical  sight  to  see  little  Jim  come 
in  to  look  at  them.  A  mouse  was  almost  the  highest  possible  excite- 
ment to  Jim,  for  a  mouse  was  second-cousin  to  a  rat,  no  doubt,  as  Jim 
looked  at  matters ;  and  just  say  "  rats !  "  to  Jim,  if  you  wanted  to 
see  him  jump !  He  would  come  in  and  look  at  our  pets,  turn  his  head 
from  one  side  to  the  other,  and  wrinkle  his  brow,  and  whine  and  bark; 
but  we  were  determined  he  should  not  kill  our  mousies,  as  he  had 
killed  our  shade  tail  a  few  months  before. 

What  to  do  with  our  pets  when  spring  came  on,  and  winter 
quarters  were  nearly  at  an  end,  we  knew  not.  We  could  not  take 
them  along  on  the  march,  neither  did  we  like  to  leave  them  behind ; 
for  it  seemed  cruel  to  leave  Jack,  Jill,  and  Jenny  in  the  deserted  and 


A   SQUIRREL  AND   THREE  BLIND  MICE.  153 

-dismantled  camp  to  go  back  to  the  barbarous  habits  of  their  ancestors. 
On  consideration,  therefore,  we  concluded  to  take  them  back  to  the 
wagon  train,  and  leave  them  with  the  wagoner,  who,  though  at  first  he 
demurred  to  our  proposal,  at  last  consented  to  let  us  turn  them  loose 
among  his  oat  bags,  where  I  doubt  not  they  had  a  merry  time  indeed. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  THE   PRIDE   OF    THE   REGIMENT." 

THE  pet-making  disposition  which  had  led  Andy  and  me  to  take  so 
much  trouble  with  our  mice  was  not  confined  to  ourselves  alone.  The 
disposition  was  quite  natural,  and  therefore  very  general  among  the 
men  of  all  commands.  Pets  of  any  and  all  kinds,  whether  chosen 
from  the  wild  or  the  domestic  animals,  were  everywhere  in  great 
esteem,  and  happy  was  the  regiment  which  possessed  a  tame  crow, 
squirrel,  coon,  or  even  a  kitten. 

Our  own  regiment  possessed  a  pet  of  great  value  and  high  esteem 
in  Little  Jim,  of  whom  some  incidental  mention  has  already  been 
made.  As  Little  Jim  enlisted  with  the  regiment,  and  was  honorably 
mustered  out  of  the  service  with  it  at  the  close  of  the  war,  after  three 
years  of  as  faithful  service  as  so  little  a  creature  as  he  could  render  the 
flag  of  his  country,  some  brief  account  of  him  here  may  not  be  out  of 
place. 

Little  Jim,  then,  was  a  small  rat  terrier,  of  fine  blooded  stock,  his 
immediate  maternal  ancestor  having  won  a  silver  collar  in  a  celebrated 
rat  pit  in  Philadelphia.  Late  in  1859,  while  yet  a  pup,  he  was  given 
by  a  sailor  friend  to  John  C.  Kensill,  with  whom  he  was  mustered  into 
the  United  States  service  "  for  three  years,  or  during  the  war,"  on 
Market  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  late  in  August,  1862.  Around  his 
neck  was  a  silver  collar  with  the  inscription,  —  "  Jim  Kensill,  Co.  F, 
150th  Regt.  P.  V." 

He  soon  came  to  be  a  great  favorite  with  the  boys,  not  only  of  his 
own  company,  but  of  the  entire  regiment  as  well,  the  men  of  the  dif- 

154 


"THE  PRIDE   OF  THE  REGIMENT."  155 

ferent  companies  thinking  quite  as  much  of  him  as  if  he  belonged  to 
each  of  them  individually,  and  not  to  Sergeant  Kensill,  of  Company  F, 
alone.  On  the  march  he  would  be  caught  up  from  the  roadside  where 
he  was  doggedly  trotting  along,  and  given  a  ride  on  the  arms  of  the 
men,  who  would  pet  him  and  talk  to  him  as  if  he  were  a  child  and  not 
a  dog.  In  winter  quarters,  however,  he  would  not  sleep  anywhere 
except  on  Kensill's  arm  and  underneath  the  blankets ;  nor  was  he  ever 
known  to  spend  a  night  away  from  home.  On  first  taking  the  field, 
rations  were  scarce  with  us,  and  for  several  days  fresh  meat  could  not 
be  had  for  poor  Jim,  and  he  nearly  starved.  Gradually,  however,  his 
master  taught  him  to  take  a  hard-tack  between  his  fore  paws,  and, 
holding  it  there,  to  munch  and  crunch  at  it  till  he  had  consumed  it. 
He  soon  learned  to  like  hard-tack,  and  grew  fat  on  it,  too.  On  the 
march  to  Chancellorsville  he  was  lost  for  two  whole  days,  to  the  great 
grief  of  the  men.  When  his  master  learned  that  he  had  been  seen 
with  a  neighboring  regiment,  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  volunteers 
to  accompany  him  when  he  announced  that  he  was  about  to  set  out 
for  the  recapture  of  Jim.  They  soon  found  where  he  was.  Another 
regiment  had  possession  of  him,  and  laid  loud  and  angry  claim  to 
him ;  but  Kensill  and  his  men  were  not  to  be  frightened,  for  he  knew 
the  Buck  tails  were  at  his  back,  and  that  sooner  than  give  up  Little 
Jim  there  would  be  some  rough  work.  As  soon  as  Jim  heard  his 
master's  sharp  whistle,  he  came  bounding  and  barking  to  his  side,  over- 
joyed to  be  at  home  again,  albeit  he  had  lost  his  silver  collar,  which  his 
thievish  captors  had  cut  from  his  neck,  in  order  the  better  to  lay  claim 
to  him. 

He  was  a  good  soldier  too,  being  no  coward,  and  caring  not  a  wag 
of  his  tail  for  the  biggest  shells  the  Johnnies  could  toss  over  at  us.  He 
was  with  us  under  our  first  shell  fire  at  "  Clarke's  Mills,"  a  few  miles 
below  Fredericksburg,  in  May,  1863,  and  ran  barking  after  the  very 
first  shell  that  came  screaming  over  our  heads.  When  the  shell  had 


156  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

buried  itself  in  the  ground,  Jim  went  up  close  to  it,  crouching  down 
on  all  fours,  while  the  boys  cried  "  Rats !  rats  !  Shake  him,  Jim  ! 
Shake  him,  Jim ! "  Fortunately,  that  first  shell  did  not  explode,  and 
when  others  came  that  did  explode,  Jim,  with  true  military  instinct, 
soon  learned  to  run  after  them  and  bark,  but  to  keep  a  respectful  dis- 
tance from  them. 

On  the  march  to  Gettysburg  he  was  with  us  all  the  way,  but  when 
we  came  near  the  enemy,  his  master  sent  him  back  to  William  Wig- 
gins, the  wagoner ;  for  he  thought  too  much  of  Jim  to  run  the  risk  of 
losing  him  in  battle.  It  was  a  pity  Jim  was  not  with  us  out  in  front 
of  the  Seminary  the  morning  of  the  first  day,  when  the  fight  opened  ; 
for  as  soon  as  the  cannon  began  to  boom,  the  rabbits  began  to  run  in 
all  directions,  as  if  scared  quite  out  of  their  poor  little  wits ;  and  there 
would  have  been  fine  sport  for  Jim  with  the  cotton  tails,  had  he  only 
been  there  to  give  them  chase. 

In  the  first  day's  fight,  Jim's  owner,  Sergeant  John  C.  Kensill,  while 
bravely  leading  the  charge  for  the  recapture  of  the  149th  Pennsylvania 
Regiment's  battle  flags,  of  which  some  brief  account  has  been  else- 
where given,  was  wounded  and  left  for  dead  on  the  field,  with  a  bullet 
through  his  head.  He,  however,  so  far  recovered  from  his  wound  that 
in  the  following  October  he  rejoined  the  regiment,  which  was  then 
lying  down  along  the  Rappahannock  somewhere.  In  looking  for  the 
regiment,  on  his  return  from  a  Northern  hospital,  Sergeant  Kensill 
chanced  to  pass  the  supply  train,  and  saw  Jim  busy  at  a  bone  under  a 
wagon.  Hearing  the  old  familiar  whistle,  Jim  at  once  looked  up,  saw 
his  master,  left  his  bone,  and  came  leaping  and  barking  in  greatest 
delight  to  his  owner's  arm. 

On  the  march  he  was  sometimes  sent  back  to  the  wagon.  Once  he 
came  near  being  killed.  To  keep  him  from  following  the  regiment  or 
from  straying  and  getting  lost  in  search  of  it,  the  wagoner  had  tied 
him  to  the  rear  axle  of  his  wagon  with  a  strong  twine.  In  crossing  a 


"THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  REGIMENT."  157 

stream,  in  his  anxiety  to  get  his  team  over  safely,  the  wagoner  forgot 
all  about  poor  little  Jim,  who  was  dragged  and  slashed  through  the 
waters  in  a  most  unmerciful  way.  After  getting  safely  over  the 
stream,  the  teamster,  looking  back,  found  poor  Jim  under  the  rear  of 
the  wagon,  being  dragged  along  by  the  neck,  more  dead  than  alive. 
He  was  then  put  on  the  sick  list  for  a  few  days  ;  but  with  this  single 
exception  he  had  never  a  mishap  of  any  kind,  and  was  always  ready 
for  duty. 

His  master  having  been  honorably  discharged  before  the  close  of 
the  war  because  of  wounds,  Jim  was  left  with  the  regiment  in  care  of 
Wiggins,  the  wagoner.  When  the  regiment  was  mustered  out  of  ser- 
vice at  the  end  of  the  war,  Little  Jim  was  mustered  out  too.  He  stood 
up  in  rank  with  the  boys  and  wagged  his  tail  for  joy  that  peace  had 
come  and  that  we  were  all  going  home.  I  understand  that  his  dis- 
charge papers  were  regularly  made  out,  the  same  as  those  of  the  men, 
and  that  they  read  somewhat  as  follows,  — 

To  ALL  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN  :  Know  ye  that  Jim  J&nsill,  Private, 
Company  F,  150th  Regiment  Pennsylvania  Volunteers,  who  was  enrolled  on 
the  twenty-second  day  of  August,  One  Thousand  Bight  Hundred  and  Sixty- 
two,  to  serve  thi'ee  years,  or  during  the  war,  is  hereby  DISCHARGED  from  the 
service  of  the  United  States,  this  twenty-third  day  of  June,  1865,  at  Elmira, 
New  York,  by  direction  of  the  Secretary  of  War. 

(No  objection  to  his  being  re-enlisted  is  known  to  exist.) 

Said  Jim  Kensill  was  born  in  Philadelphia,  in  the  State  of  Pennsylvania, 
is  six  years  of  age,  six  inches  high,  dark  complexion,  black  eyes,  black  and 
tan  hair,  and  by  occupation,  when  enrolled,  a  Rat  Terrier. 

Given  at  Elmira,  New  York,  this  twenty-third  day  of  June,  1865. 

JAMES   R.   REID, 
CAPT.  TENTH  TJ.  S.  INFANTRY,  A.C.M. 

Before  parting  with  him,  the  boys  bought  him  a  silver  collar,  which 
they  had  suitably  inscribed  with  his  name,  regiment,  and  the  principal 


158  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

engagements  in  which  he  had  participated.  This  collar,  which  he  had 
honorably  earned  in  the  service  of  his  country  in  war,  he  proudly  wore 
in  peace  to  the  day  of  his  death. 


Although  not  pertaining  to  the  writer's  own  personal  recollections, 
there  yet  may  be  appropriately  introduced  here  some  brief  mention  of 
another  pet,  who,  from  being  "  the  pride  of  his  regiment,"  gradually 
arose  to  the  dignity  of  national  fame.  I  mean  "  Old  Abe,"  the  war 
eagle  of  the  Eighth  Wisconsin  Volunteers. 

Whoever  it  may  have  been  that  first  conceived  the  idea,  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  happy  thought  to  make  a  pet  of  an  eagle.  For  the  eagle  is 
our  national  bird,  and  to  carry  an  eagle  along  with  the  colors  of  a 
regiment  on  the  march,  and  in  battle,  and  all  through  the  whole  war, 
was  surely  very  appropriate  indeed. 

"Old  Abe's"  perch  was  on  a  shield,  which  was  carried  by  a  soldier, 
to  whom,  and  to  whom  alone,  he  looked  as  to  a  master.  He  would 
not  allow  any  one  to  carry,  or  even  to  handle  him  except  this  soldier, 
nor  would  he  ever  receive  his  food  from  any  other  person's  hands.  He 
seemed  to  have  sense  enough  to  know  that  he  was  sometimes  a  burden 
to  his  master  on  the  march,  however,  and,  as  if  to  relieve  him,  would 
occasionally  spread  his  wings  and  soar  aloft  to  a  great  height,  the  men 
of  all  regiments  along  the  line  of  march  cheering  him  as  he  went  up. 
He  regularly  received  his  rations  from  the  commissary,  the  same  as  any 
enlisted  man.  Whenever  fresh  meat  was  scarce,  and  none  could  be 
found  for  him  by  foraging  parties,  he  would  take  things  into  his  own 
claws,  as  it  were,  and  go  out  on  a  foraging  expedition  himself.  On 
some  such  occasions  he  would  be  gone  two  or  three  days  at  a  time, 
during  which  nothing  whatever  was  seen  of  him  ;  but  he  would  inva- 
riably return,  and  seldom  came  back  without  a  young  lamb  or  a 
chicken  in  his  talons.  His  long  absences  occasioned  his  regiment  not 


''THE  PRIDE   OF  THE  REGIMENT." 


159 


the  slightest  concern,  for  the  men  knew  that  though  he  might  fly 
many  miles  away  in  quest  of  food,  he  would  be  quite  sure  to  find 
them  again. 

In  what  way  he  distinguished  the  two  hostile  armies  so  accurately 
that  he  was  never  once  known  to  mistake  the  gray  for  the  blue,  no  one 
can  tell.      But  so  it  was,  that  he  was  never   known  to  alight  save 
in  his  own  camp,  and  amongst  his 
own  men. 

At  Jackson,  Mississippi,  dur- 
ing the  hottest  part  of  the  bat- 
tle before  that  city,  "Old  Abe" 
soared  up  into  the  air,  and  re- 
mained there  from  early  morning 
until  the  fight  closed  at  night, 
having,  no  doubt,  greatly  enjoyed 
his  bird's-eye  view  of  the  battle. 
He  did  the  same  at  Mission 
Ridge.  He  was,  I  believe,  struck 
by  the  enemy's  bullets  two  or 
three  times ;  but  his  feathers 
were  so  thick,  that  his  body  was 
not  much  hurt.  The  shield  on 
which  he  was  carried,  however, 
showed  so  many  marks  of  the 
enemy's  balls  that  it  looked  on 
top  as  if  a  groove  plane  had  been 
run  over  it. 

At  the  Centennial  celebration  held  in  Philadelphia,  in  1876,  "  Old 
Abe  "  occupied  a  prominent  place  on  his  perch  on  the  west  side  of  the 
nave  in  the  Agricultural  building.  He  was  still  alive,  though  evi- 
dently growing  old,  and  was  the  observed  of  all  observers.  Thousands 


160  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

of  visitors,  from  all  sections  of  the  country,  paid  their  respects  to 
the  grand  old  bird,  who,  apparently  conscious  of  the  honors  conferred 
upon  him,  overlooked  the  sale  of  his  biography  and  photographs  going 
on  beneath  his  perch  with  entire  satisfaction. 

As  was  but  just  and  right,  the  soldier  who  had  carried  him  during 
the  war  continued  to  have  charge  of  him  after  the  war  was  over,  until 
the  day  of  his  death,  which  occurred  at  the  Capitol  of  Michigan 
in  1881. 

Proud  as  the  Wisconsin  boys  justly  were  of  "  Old  Abe,"  the 
Twelfth  Indiana  Regiment  possessed  a  pet  of  whom  it  may  be  truly 
said,  that  he  enjoyed  a  renown  scarcely  second  to  that  of  the  wide- 
famed  war  eagle.  This  was  "  Little  Tommy,"  as  he  was  familiarly 
called  in  those  days,  —  the  youngest  drummer-boy,  and,  so  far  as  the 
writer's  knowledge  goes,  the  youngest  enlisted  man  in  the  Union 
Army.  The  writer  well  remembers  having  seen  him  on  several  occa- 
sions. His  diminutive  size  and  childlike  appearance,  as  well  as  his 
remarkable  skill  and  grace  in  handling  the  drumsticks,  never  failed  to 
make  an  impression  on  the  beholder.  Some  brief  and  honorable 
mention  of  "  Little  Tommy,"  the  pride  of  the  Twelfth  Indiana  Regi- 
ment, may  with  propriety  find  a  place  in  these  "  Recollections  of  a 
Drummer-Boy." 

Thomas  Hubler  was  born  in  Fort  Wayne,  Allen  County,  Indiana, 
October  9,  1851.  When  two  years  of  age,  the  family  removed 
to  Warsaw,  Indiana.  On  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  his  father,  who  had 
been  a  German  soldier  of  the  truest  type,  raised  a  company  of  men,  in 
response  to  President  Lincoln's  first  call  for  seventy-five  thousand 
troops.  "  Little  Tommy  "  was  among  the  first  to  enlist  in  his  father's 
company,  the  date  of  enrollment  being  April  19,  1861.  He  was  then 
nine  years  and  six  months  old. 

The  regiment  to  which  the  company  was  assigned  was  with  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  throughout  all  its  campaigns  in  Maryland  and 


"THE  PRIDE   OF  THE  REGIMENT." 


161 


Virginia.  At  the  expiration  of  its  term  of  service,  in  August,  1862, 
"  Little  Tommy  "  re-enlisted,  and  served  to  the  end  of  the  war,  having 
been  present  in  some  twenty-six  battles  in  all.  He  was  greatly 
beloved  by  all  the  men  of  his  regiment,  and  was  a  constant  favorite 
amongst  them.  It  is  thought  that  he  beat  the  first  "  long  roll "  of  the 
great  Civil  War.  He  is  still  living  in  Warsaw,  Indiana,  and  bids  fair 
to  be  the  latest  survivor  of  the  great  and  grand  army  of  which  he  was 
the  youngest  member.  With  the  swift  advancing  years  the  ranks  of 
the  soldiers  of  the  late  war  are  being  rapidly  thinned  out,  and  those 
who  yet  remain  are  showing  signs  of  age.  The  "  Boys  in  Blue  "  are 
thus,  as  the  years  go  by,  almost  imperceptibly  turning  into  the  "  Boys 
in  Gray  " ;  and  as  •*  Little  Tommy,"  the  youngest  of  them  all,  sounded 
their  first  reveille,  so  may  he  yet  live  to  beat  their  last  tattoo. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

ABOUND   THE    CAMP-FIRE. 

WHAT  glorious  camp-fires  we  used  to  have  in  the  fall  of  the  year 
1863  !  It  makes  one  rub  his  hands  together  yet  just  to  think  of  them. 
The  nights  were  getting  cold  and  frosty,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to 
sleep  under  our  little  shelters  with  comfort ;  and  so  half  the  night 
was  spent  around  the  blazing  fires  at  the  ends  of  the  company  streets. 

I  always  took  care  that  there  should  be  a  blazing  good  fire  for  our 
little  company,  anyhow.  My  duties  were  light,  and  left  me  time, 
which  I  found  I  could  spend  with  pleasure  in  swinging  an  axe.  Hick- 
ory and  white  oak  saplings  were  my  favorites ;  and  with  these  cut  into 
lengths  of  ten  feet,  and  piled  up  as  high  as  my  head  on  wooden  fire- 
dogs,  what  a  glorious  crackle  we  would  have  by  midnight !  Go  out 
there  what  time  of  night  you  might  please,  —  and  you  were  pretty 
sure  to  go  out  to  the  fire  three  or  four  times  a  night,  for  it  was  too 
bitterly  cold  to  sleep  in  the  tent  more  than  an  hour  at  a  stretch,  — 
you  would  always  find  a  half  dozen  of  the  boys  sitting  about  the  fire, 
on  logs,  smoking  their  pipes,  telling  yarns,  or  singing  odd  catches  of 
songs.  As  I  recall  those  weird  night  scenes  of  army  life,  —  the 
blazing  fire,  the  groups  of  swarthy  men  gathered  about,  the  thick 
darkness  of  the  forest,  where  the  lights  and  shadows  danced  and 
played  all  night  long,  and  the  rows  of  little  white  tents,  covered  with 
frost,  —  it  looks  quite  poetical  in  the  retrospect ;  but  I  fear  it  was 
sometimes  prosy  enough  in  the  reality. 

"  If  you  fellows  would  stop  your  everlasting  arguing,  there,  and  go 
out  and  bring  in  some  wood,  it  would  be  a  good  deal  better ;  for 

162 


AROUND   THE   CAMP-FIRE.  163 

if  we  don't  have  a  big  camp-fire  to-night  we'll  freeze  in  this  snow- 
storm. 

So  saying,  Pointer  threw  down  the  but  end  of  a  pine  sapling  he 
had  been  half  dragging,  half  carrying,  out  of  the  woods  in  the  edge 
of  which  we  were  to  camp,  and,  axe  in  hand,  fell  to  work  at  it  with 
a  will. 

There  was,  indeed,  some  need  of  following  Pointer's  good  advice, 
for  it  was  snowing  fast  and  was  bitterly  cold.  It  was  Christmas  Eve, 
1863,  and  here  we  were,  with  no  protection  but  our  little  shelters, 
pitched  on  the  hard,  frozen  ground. 

Why  did  we  not  build  winter  quarters,  do  you  ask  ?  Well,  we  had 
already  built  two  sets  of  winter  quarters,  and  had  been  ordered  out  of 
them  in  both  instances,  to  take  part  in  some  expedition  or  other;  and 
it  was  a  little  hard  to  be  houseless  and  homeless  at  this  merry  season 
of  the  year,  when  folks  up  North  were  having  such  happy  times, 
wasn't  it?  But  it  is  wonderful  how  elastic  the  spirits  of  a  soldier  are, 
and  how  jolly  he  can  be  under  the  most  adverse  circumstances. 

"  Well,  Pointer,  they  hadn't  any  business  to  put  me  out  of  the 
mess.  That  was  a  mean  trick,  any  way  you  take  it." 

"  If  we  hadn't  put  you  out  of  our  mess  you'd  have  eaten  up 
our  whole  box  from  home  in  one  night.  He's  an  awful  glutton, 
Pointer." 

"  Say,  boys  I  I  move  we  organize  ourselves  into  a  court,  and  try 
this  case,"  said  Sergeant  Cummings.  "They've  been  arguing  and 
arguing  about  this  thing  the  whole  day,  and  it's  time  to  take  it  up  and 
put  an  end  to  it.  The  case  is  —  let's  see,  what'll  we  call  it?  I'm  not 
a  very  good  hand  at  the  legal  lingo,  but  I  suppose  if  we  call  it 
a  '  motion  to  quash  a  writ  of  ejectment,'  or  something  of  that  sort, 
we'll  be  within  the  lines  of  the  law.  Let  me  now  state  the  case: 
Shell  versus  Piehl  and  Hottenstein.  These  three,  all  members  of 
Company  D,  after  having  lived,  messed,  and  sojourned  together 


164  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 

peaceably  for  a  year  or  more,  have  had  of  late  some  disagreement, 
quarrel,  squabble,  fracas,  or  general  tearing  out,  the  result  of  which 
said  disagreement,  quarrel,  squabble,  et  cetery,  et  cetery,  has  been  that 
the  hereinbefore  mentioned  Shell  has  been  thrown  out  of  the  mess,  and 
left  to  the  cold  charities  of  the  camp  ;  and  he,  the  said  Shell,  now 
lodges  a  due  and  formal  complaint  before  this  honorable  court, 
presently  sitting  on  this  pile  of  pine  brush,  and  humbly  prays  and 
petitions  reinstatement  in  his  just  rights  and  claims,  sine  qua  non,  e 
pluribus  unum,  pro  bono  publico  ! 

"  Silence  in  the  court !  " 

To  organize  ourselves  into  a  court  of  justice  was  a  matter  of  a  few 
moments.  Cummings  was  declared  judge,  Ruhl  and  Ransom  his 
assistants.  A  jury  of  twelve  men,  good  and  true,  was  speedily 
impannelled.  Attorneys  and  tipstaves,  sheriff  and  clerk  were  ap- 
pointed, and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  narrate  it,  there  we  were, 
seated  on  piles  of  pine  brush  around  a  roaring  camp-fire,  with  the 
snow  falling  fast,  and  getting  deeper  every  hour,  trying  the  celebrated 
case  of  "  Shell  versus  Diehl  and  Hottenstein."  And  a  world  of  merri- 
ment we  had  out  of  it,  you  may  well  believe.  When  the  jury,  after 
having  retired  for  a  few  moments  behind  a  pine  tree,  brought  in  a 
verdict -for  the  plaintiff,  it  was  full  one  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning, 
and  we  began  to  drop  off  to  sleep,  some  rolling  themselves  up  in  their 
blankets  and  overcoats,  and  lying  down,  Indian  fashion,  feet  to  the 
fire;  while  others  crept  off  to  their  cold  shelters  under  the  snow- 
laden  pine  trees  for  what  poor  rest  they  could  find,  jocularly  wishing 
one  another  a  "  Merry  Christmas  !  " 

Time  wore  away  monotonously  in  the  camp  we  established  there, 
near  Culpeper  Courthouse.  All  the  more  weary  a  winter  was  it  for 
me  because  I  was  so  sick  that  I  could  scarcely  drag  myself  about.  So 
miserable  did  I  look,  that  one  day  a  Company  B  boy  said,  as  I  was 
passing  his  tent,  — 


AROUND   THE   CAMP-FIRE. 


165 


"Young  mon,  'an  if  ye  don't  be  afther  picldn'  up  a  bit,  it's  my 
opinion  ye'll  be  gathered  home  to  your  fathers  purty  soon." 

I  was  sick  with  the  same  disease  which  slew  more  men  than 
fell  in  actual  battle.  We  had  had  a  late  fall  campaign,  and 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AROUND  THE   CAMP-FIRE. 


had    suffered    much    from    exposure,   of    which   one    instance    may 
suffice,  — 

We  had  been  sent  into  Thoroughfare  Gap  to  hold  that  moun- 
tain pass.  Breaking  camp  there  at  daylight  in  a  drenching  rain, 
we  marched  all  day  long,  through  mud  up  to  our  knees,  and  soaked 


166  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

to  the  skin  by  the  cold  rain ;  at  night  we  forded  a  creek  waist 
deep,  and  marched  on  with  clothes  frozen  almost  stiff;  at  one 
o'clock  the  next  morning  we  lay  down  utterly  exhausted,  shiv- 
ering helplessly,  in  wet  clothes,  without  fire,  and  exposed  to  the 
northwest  wind  that  swept  the  vast  plain,  keen  and  cold  as  a 
razor.  Whoever  visits  the  Soldier's  Cemetery  near  Culpeper  will 
there  find  a  part  of  the  sequel  of  that  night  march;  the  remain- 
der is  scattered  far  and  wide  over  the  hills  of  Virginia,  and  in 
forgotten  places  among  the  pines. 

Could  we  have  had  home  care  and  home  diet,  many  would  have 
recovered.  But  what  is  to  be  done  for  a  sick  man  whose  only  choice 
of  diet  must  be  made  from  pork,  beans,  sugar,  and  hard-tack? 
Home  ?  Ah  yes,  if  we  only  could  get  home  for  a  month  !  Homesick? 
Well,  no,  not  exactly.  Still  we  were  not  entire  strangers  to  the  feel- 
ings of  that  poor  recruit  who  was  one  day  found  by  his  lieutenant 
sitting  on  a  fallen  pine  tree  in  the  woods,  crying  as  if  his  heart  would 
break. 

"  Why,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "  what  are  you  crying  for,  you  big 
baby,  you  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  was  in  my  daddy's  barn,  boo,  hoo  ! " 

"And  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  ?" 

The  poor  fellow  replied  between  his  sobs :  "  Why,  if  I  was  in  my 
daddy's  barn,  Pd  go  into  the  house  mighty  quick  !  " 

Now  that  I  am  speaking  of  homesickness,  I  must  relate  an 
instance  of  it  which  struck  me  as  most  ludicrous  at  the  time, 
and  of  which  I  can  hardly  even  yet  think  without  a  broad 
smile.  The  occurrence  had  somehow  entirely  slipped  my  memory, 
until  it  was  fortunately  recalled  one  evening  at  a  social  gather- 
ing, a  small  "  Camp-Fire,"  as  it  were,  of  some  half  dozen  of 
the  members  of  our  company.  We  had  been  holding  "Memo- 
rial Day "  services  in  my  native  town,  and  in  the  evening  after 


the  services  were  over, 
some  half  dozen  of  our 
old  boys  gathered  at  the 
house  of  Comrade  Albert 
Foster,  where  we  had  a 
good  supper,  and  a  good 
time  after  supper  talking 
of  army  life. 

"  Do  any  of  you  boys 
know  anything  about  Cal 
Wirt?"  asked  Pete  Grove. 
"I'd  like  to   hear   some- 
del) 


168  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

thing   of    him    once.      Harry,    you    must    certainly    remember    Cal 
Wirt? 

"Cal  Wirt?"  said  I,  "let  me  see.  Wasn't  he  with  us  when 
—  Ah,  yes!  now  I  .remember  him  quite  well.  And  now  that 
you  have  recalled  him  to  my  memory,  I  must  tell  you  a  story 
which  the  mention  of  his  name  recalls  vividly  to  my  mind,  though 


CAL  WIKT'S   MAP   OF   THE   WAK. 


A  — The  United  States. 
C  —  Union  County. 


B  —  Pennsylvania. 
D  —  Lewisbursj. 


I  had  forgotten  quite  all  about  it  until  this  moment.  Did  any 
of  you  boys  hear  of,  or  do  you  remember  anything  about  '  Cal 
Wirt's  map  of  the  War?'" 

"  Let's  have  it,  Harry,"  exclaimed  they,  all  at  once. 

"Well,  I  cannot  exactly  recall  when  and  where  it  was  that  he 
drew  it,  probably  after  Gettysburg  when  we  had  gone  back  again 
into  Virginia.  We  were  all  feeling  rather  badly  then,  low  spirited 
and  a  little  homesick  on  turning  our  backs  upon  our  native  state. 


ABOUND    THE   CAMP-FIRE.  169 

"  Besides,  we  had  very  little  to  eat  about  that  time,  except 
blackberries.  We  were  camped  down  about  Warrenton,  some- 
where, and  Cal  was  sitting,  moody  and  silent,  one  evening  about 
the  camp  fire  whittling  a  stick.  At  length,  getting  up,  and  giv- 
ing his  trousers  a  jerk  at  the  waist,  as  is  the  habit  of  some  men, 
he  took  the  stick  he  had  been  sharpening  to  a  careful  point,  and 
stepping  into  the  middle  of  the  smooth  and  hard-beaten  company 
street,  began  to  draw  an  immense,  irregular,  rectangular  figure  on 
the  ground. 

" '  Hello,  Cal,'  said  some  one,  '  what's  up  now  ?  Goin'  to  play 
hopscotch?  Should  have  thought  you'd  'a  had  enough  hoppin' 
around  after  the  Johnnies  this  summer,  without  tryiu'  to  limber 
your  legs  in  that  fashion.' 

" '  Oh,  no,'  said  another,  '  Cal  didn't  hop  after  the  Johnnies  so 
much  as  he  hopped  away  from  them  ! "  • 

"But,  notwithstanding  all  the  jibes  and  jeers  of  the  boys,  Cal 
went  on  with  his  drawing,  as  if  intent  on  the  solution  of  some 
intricate  geometrical  problem,  tracing  on  the  ground  an  immense, 
irregular  rectangle,  which  occupied  the  full  width  and  half  the 
length  of  the  company  street.  Within  this  he  described  another 
similar  but  somewhat  smaller  figure,  within  this  another,  and  in 
the  centre  of  this  last  he  made  a  deeply  dented  dot. 

"The  boys  began  to  gather  about  Cal  in  a  group,  curious  to 
learn  '  what  in  the  name  of  General  Jackson  he  was  up  to,  any- 
way.' He  soon  relieved  their  minds. 

" '  Now,  poys,'  said  Cal,  as  he  straightened  himself  up  as  if 
to  make  a  speech  —  in  rather  broken  English  — '  Now,  poys,  I 
tell  you  what.  Dis  here  is  a  map  of  de  war.  Dis  here  great 
figger  is  de  United  Shtates;  de  next  one  on  de  inside  of  dat 
is  Pennsylvany ;  dat  one  on  de  inside  of  Pennsylvany  is  goot 
old  Union  Gounty' — and  then,  pausing  for  a  moment  and  making 


170  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

a  wry  face,  he  brought  down  his  sharpened  stick  with  a  sudden 
and  desperate  thrust  at  the  point  of  the  dot  in  the  illustration, 
fell  on  his  knees,  folded  his  hands,  rolled  up  his  eyes,  and,  with 
a  most  ludicrous  and  wobegone  expression  of  countenance  and  voice, 
exclaimed,  — 

"Und  dat,  poys,  dat  is  Lewisburg, —  und  0  mine  himmel,  if  I  was 
only  dere  !  " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

OUR   FIRST   DAY  IN   "  THE   WILDERNESS." 

AT  last  the  long  winter,  with  its  deep  snows  and  intense  cold,  was 
gone,  and  on  May  4,  1864,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  we  broke 
camp.  In  what  direction  we  should  march,  whether  north,  south,  east, 
or  west,  none  of  us  had  the  remotest  idea ;  for  the  pickets  reported 
the  Rapidan  River  so  well  fortified  by  the  enemy  on  the  farther  bank, 
that  it  was  plainly  impossible  for  us  to  break  their  lines  at  any  point 
there.  But  in  those  days  we  had  a  general  who  had  no  such  word  as 
"  impossible  "  in  his  dictionary,  and  under  his  leadership  we  marched 
that  May  morning  straight  for  and  straight  across  the  Rapidan,  in  solid 
column.  All  day  we  plodded  on,  the  road  strewn  with  blankets  and 
overcoats,  of  which  the  army  lightened  itself  now  that  the  campaign 
was  opening ;  and  at  night  we  halted,  and  camped  in  a  beautiful  green 
meadow. 

Not  the  slightest  suspicion  had  we,  as  we  slept  quietly  there  that 
night,  of  the  great  battle,  or  rather  series  of  great  battles,  about  to 
open  on  the  following  day.  Even  on  that  morrow,  when  we  took  up 
the  line  of  march  and  moved  leisurely  along  for  an  hour  or  two,  we 
saw  so  few  indications  of  the  coming  struggle,  that,  when  we  suddenly 
came  upon  a  battery  of  artillery  in  position  for  action  by  the  side  of 
the  road,  some  one  exclaimed,  — 

"  Why,  hello,  fellows  !  that  looks  like  business  !  " 

Only  a  few  moments  later,  a  staff  officer  rode  up  to  our  regiment 
and  delivered  his  orders,  — 

"  Major,  you  will  throw  forward  your  command  as  skirmishers  for 
the  brigade." 

171 


172  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

The  regiment  at  once  moved  into  the  thick  pine  woods,  and  was 
lost  to  sight  in  a  moment,  although  we  could  hear  the  bugle  clanging 
out  its  orders,  "  deploy  to  right  and  left,"  as  the  line  forced  its  way 
through  the  tangled  and  interminable  "  Wilderness." 

Ordered  back  by  the  major  into  the  main  line  of  battle,  we  drum- 
mer-boys found  the  troops  massed  in  columns  along  a  road,  and  we  lay 
down  with  them  among  the  bushes.  How  many  men  were  there  we 
could  not  tell.  Wherever  we  looked,  whether  up  or  down  the  road, 
and  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  were  masses  of  men  in  blue.  Among 
them  was  a  company  of  Indians,  dark,  swarthy,  stolid-looking  fellows, 
dressed  in  our  uniform,  and  serving  with  some  Iowa  regiment,  under 
the  command  of  one  of  their  chiefs  as  captain. 

But  hark  ! 

"  Pop !  Pop  !  Pop-pop-pop  !  "  The  pickets  are  beginning  to  fire, 
the  "  ball  is  going  to  open,"  and  things  will  soon  be  getting  lively. 

A  venturesome  fellow  climbs  up  a  tall  tree  to  see  what  he  can  see, 
and  presently  comes  scrambling  down,  reporting  nothing  in  sight  but 
signal  flags  flying  over  the  tree  tops,  and  beyond  them  nothing  but 
woods  and  woods  for  miles. 

Orderlies  are  galloping  about,  and  staff  officers  are  dashing  up  and 
down  the  line,  or  forcing  their  way  through  the  tangled  bushes,  while 
out  011  the  skirmish  line  is  the  ever-increasing  rattle  of  the  mus- 
ketry, — 

"  Pop-pop  !     Pop-pop-pop  !  " 

"  Fall  in,  men  !     Forward,  guide  right  !  " 

There  is  something  grand  in  the  promptitude  with  which  the  order 
is  obeyed.  Every  man  is  at  his  post.  Forcing  its  way  as  best  it  can 
through  the  tangled  undergrowth  of  briers  and  bushes,  across  ravines 
and  through  swamps,  our  whole  magnificent  line  advances,  until, 
after  a  half-hour's  steady  work,  we  reach  the  skirmish  line,  which, 
hardly  pressed,  falls  back  into  the  advancing  column  of  blue  as  it 


OUR  FIRST  DAY  IN  "THE   WILDERNESS."  173 

reaches  a  little  clearing  in  the  forest.  Now  we  see  the  lines  of  gray  in 
the  edge  of  the  woods  on  the  other  side  of  the  little  field ;  first  their 
pickets  behind  clumps  of  bushes,  then  the  solid  column  appearing 
behind  the  fence,  coming  on  yelling  like  demons,  and  firing  a  volley 
that  fills  the  air  with  smoke  and  cuts  it  with  whistling  lead.  Shel- 
tered behind  the  trees,  our  line  reserves  its  fire,  for  it  is  likely 
that  the  enemy  will  come  out  on  a  charge,  and  then  we'll  mow 
them  down ! 

With  bayonets  fixed,  and  yells  that  make  the  woods  ring,  here 
they  come,  boys,  through  the  clearing,  on  a  dead  run  !  And  now,  as 
you  love  the  flag  that  waves  yonder  in  the  breeze,  up,  boys,  and  let 
them  have  it !  Out  from  our  Enfields  flashes  a  sheet  of  flame,  before 
which  the  lines  of  gray  stagger  for  a  moment ;  but  they  recover  and 
push  on,  then  reel  again  and  quail,  and  at  length  fly  before  the  second 
leaden  tempest,  which  sweeps  the  field  clear  to  the  opposite  side. 

With  cheers  and  shouts  of  "Victory!"  our  line,  now  advancing 
swiftly  from  behind  its  covert  of  the  trees,  sweeps  into  and  across  the 
clearing,  driving  back  the  enemy  into  the  woods  from  which  they  had 
so  confidently  ventured. 

The. little  clearing  over  which  the  lines  of  blue  are  advancing  is 
covered  with  dead  and  dying  and  wounded  men,  among  whom  I  find 
Lieutenant  Stannard,  of  my  acquaintance. 

"  Harry,  help  me  !  quick  !  "  I'm  bleeding  fast.  Tear  off  my  sus- 
pender, or  take  my  handkerchief  and  tie  it  as  tight  as  you  can  draw  it 
around  my  thigh,  and  help  me  off  the  field." 

Ripping  up  the  leg  of  his  trousers  with  my  knife,  I  soon  check  the 
flow  of  blood  with  a  hard  knot,  —  and  none  too  soon,  for  the  main 
artery  has  been  severed.  Calling  a  comrade  to  my  assistance,  we 
succeed  in  reaching  the  woods,  and  make  our  way  slowly  to  the  rear 
in  search  of  the  division  hospital. 

Whoever  wishes  to  know  something  of  the  terrible  realities  of  war 


174  RECOLLECTIONS    OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

should  visit  a  field  hospital  during  some  great  engagement.  No  doubt 
my  young  readers  imagine  war  to  be  a  great  and  glorious  thing  :  and 
so,  indeed,  in  many  regards  it  is.  It  would  be  idle  to  deny  that  there 
is  something  stirring  in  the  sound  of  martial  music,  something 
strangely  uplifting  and  intensely  fascinating  in  the  roll  of  musketry 
and  the  loud  thunder  of  artillery.  Besides,  the  march  and  the  battle 
afford  opportunities  for  the  unfolding  of  manly  virtue  ;  and  as  things 
go  in  this  disjointed  world,  human  progress  seems  to  be  almost  impos- 
sible without  war. 

Yet  still,  war  is  a  terrible,  a  horrible  thing.  If  my  young  readers 
could  have  been  with  us  as  we  helped  poor  Stannard  off  the  field  that 
first  day  in  "  the  Wilderness  "  ;  if  they  could  have  seen  the  surgeons 
of  the  first  division  of  our  corps  as  we  saw  them,  when  passing  by 
with  the  lieutenant  on  a  stretcher, — they  would,  I  think,  agree  with 
me,  that  if  war  is  a  necessity,  it  is  a  dreadful  necessity.  There  were 
the  surgeons,  busy  at  work,  while  dozens  of  poor  fellows  were  lying 
all  around  on  stretchers,  awaiting  their  turns. 

"  Hurry  on,  boys,  hurry  on  !  Don't  stop  here  ;  I  can't  stand  it !  " 
groaned  our  charge. 

So  we  pushed  on  with  our  burden,  until  we  saw  our  division  colors 
over  in  a  clearing  among  the  pines,  and  on  reaching  this  we  came  upon 
a  scene  that  I  can  never  adequately  describe. 

There  were  hundreds  of  the  wounded  already  there ;  other  hun- 
dreds, perhaps  thousands,  were  yet  to  come.  On  all  sides,  within  and 
just  without  the  hastily  erected  hospital  tents,  were  the  severely  and 
dangerously  wounded,  while  great  numbers  of  slightly  wounded  men, 
with  hands  or  feet  bandaged  or  heads  tied  up,  were  lying  about  the 
sides  of  the  tents  or  out  among  the  bushes.  The  surgeons  were  every- 
where busy,  —  here  dressing  wounds  ;  there,  alas  !  stooping  down  to 
tell  some  poor  fellow,  over  whose  countenance  the  pallor  of  death  was 
already  spreading,  that  there  was  no  longer  any  hope  for  him  ;  and 


OUR   FIRST  DAY  IN  "  THE    WILDERNESS."  177 

down  yonder,  about  a  row  of  tables,  each  under  a  fly,1  stood  groups  of 
them,  ready  for  their  dreadful,  and  yet  helpful  work. 

To  one  of  these  groups  we  carried  poor  Stannard,  and  I  stood  by 
and  watched.  The  sponge  saturated  with  chloroform  was  put  to  his 
face,  rendering  him  unconscious  while  the  operation  of  tying  the 
severed  artery  was  performed.  On  a  neighboring  table  was  a  man 
whose  leg  was  being  taken  off  at  the  thigh,  and  who,  chloroformed 
into  unconsciousness,  interested  everybody  by  singing,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  and  with  a  clear  articulation,  five  verses  of  a  hymn,  to  an 
old-fashioned  Methodist  tune,  never  once  losing  the  melody  nor 
stopping  for  a  word.  I  remember  seeing  another  poor  fellow  with  his 
arm  off  at  the  shoulder,  lying  on  the  ground  and  resting  after  the 
operation.  He  appeared  to  be  very  much  amused  at  himself,  because 
(he  said,  in  answer  to  my  inquiry  as  to  what  he  was  laughing  at)  he 
had  felt  a  fly  on  his  right  hand,  and  when  he  went  to  brush  it  off  with 
his  left  there  was  no  right  hand  there  any  more  !  I  remember,  too, 
seeing  a  tall  prisoner  brought  in  and  laid  on  the  table,  —  a  magnificent 
specimen  of  physical  development ;  erect,  well  built,  and  strong 
looking,  and  with  a  countenance  full  of  frank  and  sturdy  manliness. 
As  the  wounded  prisoner  was  stretched  out  on  the  table,  the  surgeon 
said,  — 

"  Well,  Johnny,  my  man,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  and  what 
can  we  do  for  you  to-day  ?  " 

"Well,  doctor,  your  people  have  used  me  rather  rough  to-day. 
In  the  first  place,  there's  something  down  in  here,"  feeling  about  his 
throat,  "  that  troubles  me  a  good  deal." 

Opening  his  shirt  collar,  the  surgeon  found  a  deep-blue  mark  an 
inch  or  more  below  the  "Adam's  apple."  On  pressing  the  blue  lump 

1  A  piece  of  canvas,  stretched  over  a  pole  and  fastened  to  tent  pins  by  long  ropes; 
having  no  walls,  it  admits  light  on  all  sides. 


178  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

a  little  with  the  fingers,  out  popped  a  minie  ball,  which  had  lodged 
just  beneath  the  skin. 

"  Lucky  for  you  that  this  was  a  '  spent  ball,'  Johnny,"  said  the 
surgeon,  holding  the  bullet  between  his  fingers. 

"  Give  me  that,  doctor,  give  me  that  ball ;  I  want  it,"  said  Johnny, 
eagerly  reaching  out  his  left  hand  for  the  ball.  Then  he  carefully 
examined  it,  and  put  it  away  into  his  jacket  pocket. 

"  And  now,  doctor,  there's  something  else,  you  see,  the  matter  with 
me,  and  something  more  serious,  too,  I'm  afraid.  You  see,  I  can't  use 
my  right  arm.  The  way  was  this :  we  were  having  a  big  fight  out 
there  in  the  woods.  In  the  bayonet  charge  I  got  hold  of  one  of  your 
flags,  and  was  waving  it,  when  all  on  a  sudden  I  got  an  ugly  clip  in 
the  arm  here,  as  you  see." 

"  Never  mind,  Johnny.  We  shall  treat  you  just  the  same  as  our 
own  boys,  and  though  you  are  dressed  in  gray  you  shall  be  cared  for  as 
faithfully  as  if  you  were  dressed  in  blue,  until  yc-u  are  well  and  strong 
again." 

Never  did  I  see  a  more  delighted  or  grateful  man  than  he,  when, 
awakened  from  his  deep  chloroform  sleep,  he  was  asked  whether  he 
did  not  think  his  arm  had  better  come  off  now  ? 

"  Just  as  you  think  best,  doctor." 

"  Look  at  your  arm  once,  Johnny." 

What  was  his  glad  surprise  to  find  that  the  operation  had  been 
already  performed,  and  that  a  neat  bandage  was  wound  about  his 
shoulder ! 

The  most  striking  illustration  of  the  power  of  religion  to  sustain  a 
man  in  trial  and  distress,  I  saw  there  in  that  field  hospital. 

We  had  carried  Stannard  into  a  tent,  and  laid  him  on  a  pile  of 
pine  boughs,  where,  had  he  only  been  able  to  keep  quiet,  he  would 
have  done  well  enough.  But  he  was  not  able  to  keep  quiet.  A  more 
restless  man  I  never  saw.  Although  his  wound  was  not  considered 


OUR   FIRST  DAY  IN  "  THE    WILDERNESS."  179 

necessarily  dangerous,  yet  he  was  evidently  in  great  fear  of  death,  and 
for  death,  I  grieve  to  say,  he  was  not  at  all  prepared.  He  had  been  a 
wild,  wayward  man,  and  now  that  he  thought  the  end  was  approach- 
ing, he  was  full  of  alarm.  As  I  bent  over  him,  trying  my  best,  but  in 
vain,  to  comfort  and  quiet  him,  my  attention  was  called  to  a  man  on 
the  other  side  of  the  tent,  whose  face  I  thought  I  knew,  in  spite  of  its 
unearthly  pallor. 

"  Why,  Smith,"  said  I,  "  is  this  you  ?     Where  are  you  hurt  ? '; 

"  Come  turn  me  around  and  see,"  he  said. 

Rolling  him  over  carefully  on  his  side,  I  saw  a  great,  cruel  wound 
in  his  back. 

My  countenance  must  have  expressed  alarm  when  I  asked  him, 
as  quietly  as  I  could,  whether  he  knew  that  he  was  very  seriously 
wounded,  and  might  die. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  look  that  man  gave  me,  as,  with  a  strange 
light  in  his  eye,  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  in  God's  hands,  I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

Two  or  three  days  after  that,  while  we  were  marching  on  rapidly 
in  column  again,  we  passed  an  ambulance  train  filled  with  wounded 
on  their  way  to  Fredericksburg.  Hearing  my  name  called  by  some 
one,  I  ran  out  of  line  to  an  ambulance,  in  which  I  found  Stannard. 

"  Harry,  for  pity's  sake,  have  you  any  water  ?  " 

"  No,  lieutenant ;  I'm  very  sorry,  but  there's  not  a  drop  in  my 
canteen,  and  there's  no  time  now  to  get  any." 

It  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  him.  He  was  taken  to  Fredericks- 
burg,  submitted  to  a  second  operation,  and  died;  and  I  have  always 
believed  that  his  death  was  largely  owing  to  want  of  faith. 

Six  months,  or  maybe  a  year,  later,  Smith  came  back  to  us  with  a 
great  white  scar  between  his  shoulders,  and  I  doubt  not  he  is  alive  and 
well  to  this  day. 

And  there  was  Jimmy  Lucas  too.     They  brought  him  in  about  the 


180  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

middle  of  that  same  afternoon,  two  men  bearing  him  on  their  arms. 
He  was  so  pale,  that  I  knew  at  a  glance  he  was  severely  hurt.  "  A 
ball  through  the  lungs,"  they  said,  arid  "  he  can't  live."  Jimmy  was 
one  of  my  own  company,  from  my  own  village.  We  had  been  school- 
fellows and  playmates  from  childhood  almost,  and  you  may  well 
believe  it  was  sad  work  to  kneel  down  by  his  side  and  watch  his  slow 
and  labored  breathing,  looking  at  his  pallid  features,  and  thinking  — 
ah,  yes,  that  was  the  saddest  of  all !  —  of  those  at  home.  He  would 
scarcely  let  me  go  from  him  a  moment,  arid  when  the  sun  was  setting, 
he  requested  every  one  to  go  out  of  the  tent,  for  he  wanted  to  speak 
a  few  words  to  me  in  private.  As  I  bent  down  over  him,  he  gave  me 
his  message  for  his  father  and  mother,  and  a  tender  good  by  to  his 
sweetheart,  begging  me  not  to  forget  a  single  word  of  it  all  if  ever  I 
should  live  to  see  them  ;  and  then  he  said,  — 

"And  Harry,  tell  father  and  mother  I  thank  them  now  for  all 
their  care  and  kindness  in  trying  to  bring  me  up  well  and  in  the  fear 
of  God.  I  know  I  have  been  a  wayward  boy  sometimes,  but  my  trust 
is  in  him  who  said,  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  My  hope  is  in  God,  and  I  shall  die  a 
Christian  man." 

When  the  sun  had  set  that  evening,  poor  Jimmy  had  entered  into 
rest,  He  was  burred  somewhere  among  the  woods  that  night,  and  no 
flowers  are  strewn  over  his  grave  on  "  Decoration  Day  "  as  the  years 
go  by,  for  no  head  board  marks  his  resting-place  among  the  moaning 
pines  ;  but  "  the  Lord  knoweth  them  that  are  his." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  BIVOUAC   FOR   THE   NIGHT. 

IF  from  any  cause  whatsoever  one  happened  to  have  lost  his  com- 
mand, or  to  have  strayed  away  from  or  to  have  been  left  behind  by  his 
regiment,  he  could  usually  tell  with  tolerable  certainty,  as  he  trudged 
along  the  road  among  the  men  of  another  command,  what  part  of  the 
army  he  was  with,  and  whether  any  of  his  own  corps  or  division  were 
anywhere  near  by ;  and  he  could  tell  this  at  a  glance,  without  so  much 
as  stopping  to  ask  a  question.  Do  you  ask  how  ?  I  answer  by  the 
badges  the  men  wore  on  their  caps. 

An  admirable  and  significant  system  of  badges  was  adopted  for  the 
entire  Union  army.  The  different  corps  were  distinguished  by  the 
shapes,  the  different  divisions  by  the  colors,  of  their  several  badges. 
Thus  the  First  Corps  wore  a  round  badge,  the  Second  a  clover  leaf, 
the  Third  a  diamond,  the  Fifth  a  Maltese  cross,  the  Sixth  a  Roman 
cross,  the  Ninth  a  shield,  the  Eleventh  a  crescent,  the  Twentieth  a 
star,1  and  so  on.  As  each  corps  usually  included  three  divisions,  and 
as  it  was  necessary  to  distinguish  each  of  these  from  the  other  two, 
the  three  good  old  colors  of  the  flag  were  chosen  for  this  purpose,  — 
red*  white,  and  blue,  —  red  for  the  First  Division  of  each  corps,  white 
for  the  Second,  and  blue  for  the  Third.  Thus  a  round  red  badge 
meant  First  Division,  First  Corps ;  a  round  white,  Second  Division, 
First  Corps  ;  a  round  blue,  Third  Division,  First  Corps  ;  and  so  on 
for  the  other  corps.  Division  and  corps  headquarters  could  always  be 
known  by  their  flags,  bearing  the  badges  of  their  respective  commands. 
As  the  men  were  all  obliged  to  wear  their  proper  badges,  cut  out  of 

1  Later  in  the  service  the  Twelfth  Corps  wore  the  star. 
181 


182 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER  BOY. 


S    CorJ> 


cloth  or  colored  leather,  on  the  top  of  their  caps,  one  could  always  tell 
at  a  glance  what  part  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  he  was  with.  In 
addition  to  this,  some  regiments  were  distinguished  by  some  pecu- 
liarity of  uniform.  Our  own  brigade  was  everywhere  known  as  "  The 
Bucktails,"  for  we  all  wore  bucktails  on  the  side  of  our  caps. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  I  was  able  to  tell  that  none  of  my  own 
brigade,  division,  or  even  corps  were  anywhere  near  me,  as,  late  one 

evening,  about  the  middle 
of  May,  1864,  I  wearily 
trudged  along  the  road,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Spott- 
sylvania  Court  House,  in 
search  of  my  regiment.  I 
had  lost  the  regiment  early 
in  the  day,  for  I  was  so  sick 
and  weak  when  we  started 
in  the  morning  that  it  was 
scarcely  possible  for  me  to 
drag  one  foot  after  the  other, 
much  less  to  keep  up  at  the  lively  pace  the  men  were  marching.  Thus 
it  had  happened  that  I  had  been  left  behind.  However,  after  having 
trudged  along  all  day  as  best  I  could,  when  nightfall  came  on  I  threw 
myself  down  under  a  pine  tree  along  the  road  which  led  through  the 
woods,  stiff  and  sore  in  limb,  and  half  bewildered  by  a  burning  fever. 
All  around  me  the  woods  were  full  of  men  making  ready  their  bivouac 
for  the  night.  Some  were  cooking  coffee  and  frying  pork,  some  were 
pitching  their  shelters,  and  some  were  already  stretched  out,  sound 
asleep.  But  all,  alas !  wore  the  red  Roman  cross.  Could  I  only  have 
espied  a  Maltese  cross  somewhere,  I  should  have  felt  at  home,  for  then 
I  should  have  known  that  the  good  old  Fifth  Corps  was  near  at  hand. 
But  no  blue  Maltese  cross  (the  badge  of  my  own  division)  was 


ARMY   BADGES. 


A  BIVOUAC  FOE   THE  NIGHT.  183 

anywhere  to  be  seen.  As  I  lay  there,  with  half  closed  eyes,  feverishly 
wondering  where  in  the  world  I  was,  and  heartily  wishing  for  the  sight 
of  some  one  wearing  a  bucktail  on  his  cap,  I  heard  a  well-known  voice 
talking  with  some  one  out  in  the  road,  and,  leaning  upon  my  elbow, 
called  out  eagerly,  — 

"Harter!     Hello!  Barter  !  Harter  !" 

"  Hello !  Who  are  you  ? "  replied  the  sergeant,  peering  in 
amongst  the  trees  and  bushes.  "Why,  Harry,  is  that  you?  And 
where  in  the  world  is  the  regiment  ?  " 

".That's  just  what  I'd  like  to  know,"  answered  I.  "I  couldn't 
keep  up,  and  was  left  behind,  and  have  been  lost  all  day.  But  where 
have  you  been  ?  I  haven't  seen  you  this  many  a  day." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  as  he  brought  his  gun  down  to  a  rest,  and  leaned 
his  two  hands  on  the  muzzle,  "you  see  the  Johnnies  spoiled  my  good 
looks  a  little,  back  there  in  the  wilderness,  and  I  was  sent  to  the  hospi- 
tal. But  I  couldn't  stand  it  there,  wounded  and  dying  men  all  around 
one ;  and  concluded  to  shoulder  my  gun  and  start  out  and  try  to  find 
the  boys.  Look  here,"  continued  he,  taking  off  a  bandage  from  the 
side  of  his  face  and  displaying  an  ugly-looking  bullet  hole  in  his  right 
cheek.  "  See  that  hole  ?  It  goes  clean  through,  and  I  can  blow 
through  it.  But  it  don't  hurt  very  much,  and  will  no  doubt  heal  up 
before  the  next  fight.  Anyhow,  I  have  the  chunk  of  lead  that  made 
that  hole  here  in  my  jacket  pocket.  See  that !  "  said  he,  taking  out  a 
flattened  ball  from  his  Test  pocket,  and  rolling  it  around  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  "  Lodged  in  my  mouth,  right  between  my  teeth.  But 
I'm  tired  nearly  to  death,  tramping  around  all  day.  Let's  put  up 
for  the  night.  Shall  we  strike  up  a  tent,  or  bunk  down  here  under  the 
pines  ?  " 

We  concluded  to  put  up  a  shelter,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  Harter 
did  so  ;  for  I  was  too  sick  and  weak  to  think  of  anything  but  sleep 
and  rest,  and  lay  there  at  full  length  on  a  bed  of  soft  pine  shatters, 


184  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

dreamily  watching  the  sergeant's  preparations  for  the  night.  Throw- 
ing off  his  knapsack,  haversack,  and  accoutrements,  he  took  out  his 
hatchet,  trimmed  away  the  lower  branches  of  two  pine  saplings  which 
stood  some  six  feet  apart,  cut  a  straight  pole,  and  laid  it. across  from 
one  to  the  other  of  these  saplings,  buttoned  together  two  shelters  and 
threw  them  across  the  ridgepole,  staked  them  down  at  the  corners,  and 
throwing  in  his  traps,  exclaimed,  — 

"  There  you  are,  '  as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug.'  And  now  for  water, 
fire,  and  a  supper." 

A  fire  was  soon  and  easily  built,  for  dry  wood  was  plenty ;  and 
soon  the  flames  were  crackling,  and  lighting  up  the  dusky  woods. 
Taking  our  two  canteens,  Harter  started  off  in  search  of  water, 
leaving  me  to  stretch  myself  out  in  the  tent,  and  —  heartily  wish 
myself  at  home. 

For  soldiering  is  all  well  enough  so  long  as  one  is  strong  and  well. 
But  when  a  man  gets  sick  he  is  very  likely  to  find  that  all  the  romance 
of  marching  by  day  and  camping  by  night  is  suddenly  gone,  and  that 
there  is,  after  all,  no  place  like  home.  For  one,  I  was  fully  conscious 
of  this  as  I  lay  there  in  the  tent,  awaiting  the  sergeant's  return.  The 
sounds  which  came  to  my  ears  from  the  woods,  all  around  me,  —  of 
strong  men's  voices,  some  shouting  and  some  conversing  in  low  tones ; 
the  noise  of  axes  and  of  falling  trees ;  the  busy,  bee-like  hum,  losing 
itself  amongst  the  trees  and  in  the  far  distance ;  the  bright  glare  of 
the  many  fires,  and  the  dancing  lights  and  shadows  which  seemed  to 
people  the  forest  with  ghostlike  forms,  —  all  this,  although  at  another 
time  it  would  have  had  a  singular  charm,  now  awakened  no  response  in 
me.  One  draught  of  water  at  the  "Big  Spring "  at  home,  which  I  knew 
at  that  very  moment  was  gushing,  cool,  and  clear  as  crystal,  out  of  the 
hillside,  and  on  the  bottom  of  which  I  could  in  vision  see  the  white 
pebbles  lying,  would  have  been  worth  to  me  all,  and  more  than  all, 
the  witchery  of  our  bivouac  for  the  night.  And  I  would  have  given 


GENERAL   GRANT    CAN'T  HAVE   ANY    OF   TlilS   WATER." 


A   BIVOUAC  FOR   THE  NIGHT.  187 

more  for  a  bed  on  the  hard  floor  on  the  landing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  at  home  —  I  would  not  have  asked  for  a  bed  —  than  for  a 
dozen  nights  spent  in  the  finest  camps  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 
But  the  thought  of  the  "  Big  Spring  "  troubled  me  most.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  could  see  it  with  my  eyes  shut,  and  that  I  could  hear  the 
water  as  it  came  gushing  out  of  the  hillside  and  flowed  to  the  meadow, 
plashing  and  rippling  — 

"  I  tell  you,  Harry,"  said  the  sergeant,  suddenly  interrupting  my 
vision  as  he  stepped  into  the  circle  of  light  in  front  of  our  little  tent, 
and  flung  down  his  canteens,  "  there  isn't  anything  like  military  disci- 
pline. I  went  down  the  road  here  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  came 
out  near  General  Grant's-  headquarters,  in  a  clearing.  Down  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill,  right  in  front  of  his  headquarters,  is  a  spring ;  but  it 
seems  the  surgeon  of  some  hospital  near  by  had  got  there  before  the 
general,  and  had  placed  a  guard  on  the  spring,  to  keep  the  water  for 
the  wounded.  As  I  came  up,  I  heard  the  guard  say  to  a  darky,  who 
had  come  to  the  spring  for  water,  with  a  bucket,  — 

" '  Get  out  of  that,  you  black  rascal ;  you  can't  have  any  water 
here.' 

"  '  Guess  I  kin,'  said  the  darky.  *  I  want  dis  yere  water  for  Gen'l 
Grant ;  an'  ain't  he  a  commandin'  dis  yere  army,  or  am  you  ?  ' 

"  '  You  touch  that  water,  and  I'll  run  my  bayonet  through  you,'  said 
the  guard.  'General  Grant  can't  have  any  water  at  this  spring  till 
my  orders  are  changed.' 

"  The  darky,  saying  that  he'd  '  see  'bout  dat  mighty  quick,'  went 
up  the  hill  to  headquarters,  and  returned  in  a  few  moments  declaring 
that,  — 

" '  Gen'l  Grant  said  dat  you  got  to  gib  me  water  outen  dis  yere 
spring.' 

"  '  You  go  back  and  tell  General  Grant,  for  me,'  said  the  corporal 
of  the  guard,  who  came  up  at  the  moment,  '  that  neither  he  nor  any 


188  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

other  general  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  can  get  water  at  this  spring 
till  my  orders  are  changed.' 

"  Now,  yon  see,"  continued  Harter,  as  he  gave  me  a  tin  cup  on  a 
stick  to  hold  over  the  fire  for  coffee,  while  he  cut  down  a  slice  of  pork, 
"  there's  something  mighty  fine  in  the  idea  of  a  man  standing  to  his 
post  though  the  heavens  fall,  and  obeying  the  orders  given  him  when 
he  is  put  on  guard,  so  that  even  though  the  greatest  generals  in  the 
army  send  down  contrary  orders  to  him,  he'll  die  before  he'll  give  in. 
A  man  is  mighty  strong  when  he  is  on  guard  and  obeys  orders. 
Though  he's  only  a  corporal,  or  even  a  private,  he  can  command  the 
general  commanding  the  army.  But  I  don't  believe  General  Grant 
sent  that  darky  for  water  a  second  time." 

Supper  was  soon  ready,  and  soon  disposed  of.  Then,  without 
further  delay,  while  the  shadows  deepened  into  thick  night  in  the 
forest,  we  rolled  ourselves  up  in  our  blankets  and  stretched  ourselves 
out  with  our  feet  to  the  fire.  Dreamily  watching  the  blazing  light  of 
our  little  camp  fire,  and  thinking  each  his  own  thoughts  of  things 
which  had  been  and  things  which  might  be,  we  both  soon  fell  sound 
asleep. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

"  WENT   DOWN   TO   JERICHO  AND   FELL   AMONG   THIEVES." 

ON  the  morning  of  May  23d,  1864,  after  a  good  and  refreshing 
sleep,  we  took  up  the  line  of  march  and  moved  rapidly  all  day  in  a 
southerly  direction,  "  straight  for  Richmond,"  according  to  our  some- 
what bewildered  conception  of  the  geography  of  those  parts.  With 
the  exception  of  an  occasional  skirmish  and  some  heavy  cannonading 
away  along  the  horizon,  we  had  seen  and  heard  but  little  of  the  enemy 
for  several  days.  Where  he  was  we  did  not  know.  We  only  hoped 
that,  after  the  terrible  fighting  of  the  last  two  weeks,  commencing  at 
the  Wilderness  on  the  fifth,  he  had  had  enough  of  it  and  had  taken  to 
his  heels  and  run  away,  — 

"  Away  down  South  in  Dixie's  land, 
Away,  away," 

and  that  we  should  never  again  see  anything  of  him  but  his  back. 
Alas !  for  the  presumption.  And  alas !  for  the  presumption  of  the 
innumerable  company  and  fellowship  of  cooks,  camp-followers,  and 
mule-drivers,  who,  emboldened  by  the  quietude  of  the  last  few  days, 
had  ventured  to  come  up  from  the  rear,  and  had  joined  each  his 
respective  regiment,  and  were  marching  along  bravely  enough,  as  on 
the  evening  of  this  same  May  23d  we  approached  North  Anna  River, 
which  we  were  to  cross  at  a  place  called  Jericho  Ford.  As  we  came 
near  to  the  river,  we  found  the  supply  and  ammunition  trains 
"  parked  "  to  the  rear  of  a  wood  a  short  distance  from  Jericho,  so  that 
as  we  halted  for  a  while  in  the  edge  of  the  woods  nearest  to  the 
stream,  everything  wore  so  quiet  and  unsuspicious  a  look,  that  no  one 

189 


190  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

dreamed  of  the  enemy  being  anywhere  near  at  hand.  Under  the 
impression  that  we  should  probably  halt  there  for  the  night,  I  gathered 
up  a  number  of  the  boys'  canteens  and  started  out  in  search  of  water, 
taking  my  course  toward  an  open  meadow  which  lay  to  the  right  and 
close  to  the  river's  edge.  There  was  a  cornfield  off  to  the  left,  across 
which  I  could  see  the  troops  leisurely  marching  in  the  direction  of  the 
bridge.  As  I  stooped  down  to  fill  my  canteens,  another  man  came  up 
on  the  same  errand  as  had  brought  me  there.  From  where  I  was,  I 
could  see  the  bridge  full  of  troops  and  the  general  rabble  of  camp 
followers  carelessly  crossing.  But  scarcely  had  I  more  than  half 
filled  my  first  canteen,  when  the  enemy,  lying  concealed  in  the  woods 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  opened  fire. 

Boom  !     Bang  !     Whir-r-r  !     Chu-ck  ! 

"  Hello  ! "  said  I  to  my  companion,  "the  ball  is  going  to  open  !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  he  with  a  drawl  and  a  certain  supercilious  look, 
as  if  to  intimate  that  few  besides  himself  had  ever  heard  a  shell  crack 
before  —  "  Yes ;  but  when  you  have  heard  as  many  shells  busting 
about  your  head  as  I  have  "  — 

Whir-r-r  !  Chu-ck !  I  could  hear  the  terrific  shriek  of  the  shell 
overhead,  and  the  sharp  thud  of  the  pieces  as  they  tore  up  the  meadow 
sod  to  the  right  and  left  of  us ;  whereupon  my  brave  and  boastful 
friend,  leaving  his  sentence  to  be  completed  and  his  canteens  to  be 
filled  some  other  day,  cut  for  the  rear  at  full  speed,  ducking  his  head 
as  he  went.  Finding  an  old  gateway  near  by,  with  high  stone  posts 
on  either  side,  I  took  refuge  there ;  and  feeling  tolerably  safe  behind 
my  tall  defence,  turned  about  and  looked  towards  the  river.  It  is  said 
that  there  is  but  a  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  ;  and  surely 
laughable  indeed  was  the  scene  which  greeted  my  eyes.  Everything 
was  in  confusion,  and  all  was  helter-skelter,  skurry,  and  skedaddle. 
There  was  the  bridge  in  open  view,  full  of  a  struggling  mass  of  men, 
horses,  and  mules,  —  the  troops  trying  to  force  their  way  over  to  the 


"  WENT  DOWN  TO  JERICHO," 


191 


other  side,  and  the  yelling  crowd  of  camp  followers  equally  bent  on 
forcing  their  way  back ;  some  jumping  or  being  tumbled  off  the  bridge, 
while  others  were  swept,  nolens  volens,  over  to  the  other  side,  and 
there  began  to  plunge  into  the  dirty  ooze  of  the  stream,  with  the 
evident  intention  of  getting  on  the  safe  side  of  things  as  speedily  as 
possible,  while  all  the  time  the  shells  flew  shrieking  and  screaming 


"WENT  DOWN  TO  JERICHO." 

through  the  air  as  though  the  demons  had  been 
let  loose.      Between  me  and  the  river  was  a 
las*  year's  cornfield,  over  which  the  rabble  now 
came  swift   and  full,  fear  furnishing  wings  to 
flight,  —  and  happy  indeed  was  he  who  had  no 
mule  to    take    care    of!      One   poor 
fellow  who  had  had  his  mule  heavily 
laden  with  camp  equipage  when  he 
crossed   over,  was   now  making   for 

the  rear  with  his  mule  at  a  full  trot,  but  in  sad  plight  himself; 
for  he  was  hatless,  covered  with  mud,  and  quite  out  of  breath, 
had  lost  saddle,  bag,  and  baggage,  and  had  nothing  left  but  himself, 
the  mule,  and  the  halter.  Another,  immediately  in  front  of  me, 
had  come  on  well  enough  until  he  arrived  in  the  middle  of  the 
open  field,  where  the  shells  were  falling  rather  thick,  when  his 


192  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

mule  took  it  into  his  head  that  flight  was  disgraceful,  and  that  he 
would  retreat  no  farther,  —  no,  not  an  inch.  There  he  stood  like  a 
rock,  the  poor  driver  pulling  at  his  halter,  and  frantically  kicking  the 
beast  in  the  ribs,  but  all  to  no  avail ;  while  all  around  him,  and  past 
him,  swept  the  crowd  of  his  fellow  cooks  and  coffee  coolers  in  full 
flight  for  the  rear. 

As  soon  as  the  firing  began  to  cease  a  little,  I  started  off  for  the 
regiment,  which  had  meanwhile  changed  position.  In  searching  for 
it  I  passed  the  forage  and  ammunition  trains,  which  were  parked 
to  the  rear  of  the  woods,  and  within  easy  range  of  the  enemy's  guns ; 
which  latter  fact  the  enemy,  fortunately,  did  not  know.  One  who  has 
not  actually  seen  them,  can  scarcely  form  any  adequate  idea  of  the 
vast  numbers  of  white-covered  wagons  which  followed  our  armies, 
carrying  food,  forage,  and  ammunition ;  nor  can  any  one  who  has  not 
actually  witnessed  a  panic  among  the  drivers  of  these  wagons  form 
any  conception  of  the  terror  into  which  they  were  sometimes  thrown. 
The  drivers  of  the  ammunition  wagons  were  especially  anxious  to  keep 
well  out  of  range  of  shells,  —  and  no  wonder  !  For  if  a  shot  from  the 
enemy's  guns  were  to  fall  amongst  a  lot  of  wagons  laden  with 
percussion  shells,  the  result  may  perhaps  be  imagined.  It  was  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that  the  driver  of  an  ammunition  wagon,  with  six 
mules  in  front  of  him  and  several  tons  of  death  and  destruction 
behind  him,  felt  somewhat  nervous  when  he  heard  the  whirr  of  the 
shells  over  the  tops  of  the  pines. 

In  searching  for  the  regiment,  I  passed  one  of  these  trains.  A 
commissary-sergeant  was  dealing  out  forage  to  his  men,  who  were 
standing  around  him  in  a  circle,  each  holding  open  a  bag  for  his  oats, 
which  the  commissary  was  alternately  dealing  out  to  them  with 
a  bucket,  —  a  bucketful  to  this  man,  then  to  the  next,  and  so  on 
around  the  circle.  It  was  plain,  however,  to  any  observer,  that  he  was 
more  concerned  about  the  shells  than  interested  in  the  oats,  for  he 


"WENT  DOWN  TO  JERICHO."  193 

dodged  his  head  every  time  a  shell  cracked,  which  happened  just 
about  the  time  he  was  in  the  act  of  pouring  a  bucketful  of  oats  into 
a  bag. 

While  I  was  looking  at  them,  Page,  a  Michigan  boy,  who  was  well 
known  to  me,  came  up  on  his  horse  in  search  of  our  division  forage 
train,  for  he  was  orderly  to  our  brigadier-general,  and  wanted  oats  for 
his  horses.  Stopping  a  moment  to  contemplate  the  scene  I  was 
admiring,  he  said,  — 

*'  You  just  keep  an  eye  on  my  horse  a  minute,  will  you,  and  I'll 
show  you  how  I  get  oats  for  my  horses  when  forage  is  scarce." 

It  was  very  often  a  difficult  matter  for  the  mounted  officers  to  get 
forage  for  their  horses ;  for  our  movements  were  so  many  and  so 
sudden,  that  it  was  plainly  impossible  for  the  trains  to  follow  us  wher- 
ever we  went.  Often,  when  we  halted  at  night,  the  wagons  were 
miles  and  miles  away  from  us,  and  sometimes  we  did  not  get  a  sight 
of  them  for  a  week,  or  even  longer.  Then  the  poor  hard-ridden  horses 
would  have  to  suffer.  But  it  was  well  known  that  Page  could  get 
oats  when  nobody  else  could.  Though  the  wagon  trains  were  many 
miles  in  the  rear,  Page  seldom  permitted  his  horses  to  go  to  bed  sup- 
perless.  Though  an  American  by  birth,  he  was  a  Spartan  in  craft,  and 
had  a  wit  as  keen  and  sharp  as  a  razor.  It  was  said,  that  rather  than 
have  his  horses  go  without  their  allowance  he  would,  if  necessary,  sit 
up  half  the  night,  after  a  hard  day's  march,  and  wait  till  everybody 
else  was  sound  asleep,  and  then  quietly  slip  from  under  the  heads  of 
the  orderlies  of  other  commands  the  very  oat  bags  which,  in  order  to 
guard  them  the  more  securely,  they  were  using  for  their  pillows ; 
for  oats  Page  would  have  for  the  general's  horse,  by  hook  or  by 
crook. 

"  You  see  the  commissary,  yonder  ? "  said  Page  to  me,  in  a  half 
whisper,  as  he  dismounted,  and  threw  an  empty  bag  over  his  arm  and 
gave  his  waist  belt  a  hitch  :  "  he's  a  coward,  he  is.  Look  at  him,  how 


194  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

he  jukes  his  head  at  every  crack  of  the  cannon  !  Don't  know  whether 
he's  dealing  out  oats  to  the  right  man  or  not.  Just  you  keep  an  eye 
on  my  horse,  will  you  ?  " 

Now  Page  had  no  right  in  the  least  to  draw  forage  rations  there, 
for  that  wag  not  our  division  train.  But  as  he  did  not  know  where 
our  division  train  was,  and  as  all  the  oats  belonged  to  Uncle  Sam 
anyhow,  why,  where  was  the  harm  of  getting  jour  forage  wherever 
you  could? 

Pushing  his  way  into  the  circle  of  teamsters,  who  were  too  much 
engaged  in  watching  for  shells  to  notice  the  presence  of  a  stranger, 
Page  boldly  opened  his  bag,  while  Mr.  Commissary,  ducking  his  head 
between  his  shoulders  at  every  boom  of  the  guns,  poured  four  bucket- 
fills  of  oats  into  the  bag  of  the  new  comer;  whereupon  Page  shoul- 
dered his  prize,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away  with  a  smile  on  his 
face,  which  said,  as  plainly  as  could  be,  "  That's  the  way  to  do  it, 
my  lad  ! " 

In  the  wild  mele'e  of  that  May  evening,  there  at  Jericho,  —  where, 
evidently,  we  had  all  fallen  among  thieves,  —  there  was  no  little 
confusion  as  to  the  rights  of  property  ;  meum  and  tuum  got  sadly 
mixed ;  some  horses  had  lost  their  owners,  and  some  owners  had  lost 
their  horses ;  and  the  same  was  the  case  with  the  mules.  So  that  by 
the  time  things  began  to  get  quiet  again,  some  of  the  boys  had  picked 
up  stray  horses,  or  bought  them  for  a  mere  song.  On  coming  up  with 
the  regiment,  I  found  that  Andy  had  just  concluded  a  bargain  of  this 
sort.  He  had  bought  a  sorrel  horse.  The  animal  was  a  great,  raw- 
boned,  ungainly  beast,  built  after  the  Gothic  style  of  horse  archi- 
tecture, and  would  have  made  an  admirable  sign  for  a  feed  store  up 
North,  as  a  substitute  for  "  Oats  wanted ;  inquire  within."  However, 
when  I  came  up  Andy  had  already  concluded  the  bargain,  and  had 
become  the  sole  owner  and  proprietor  of  the  sorrel  horse,  for  the  small 
consideration  of  ten  dollars. 


«  WENT  DOWN  TO  JERICHO." 


195 


"  Why,  Andy  !  "  exclaimed  I,  "  what  in  the  name  of  all  conscience 
do  you  want  with  a  horse  ?  Going  to  join  the  cavalry  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Andy,  with  a  grin,  "I  took  him  on  a  speculation. 
Going  to  feed  him  up  a  little  —  " 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  I ;  "he  needs  it  sadly." 

"  Yes ;  going  to  feed  him  up  and  then  sell  him  to  somebody,  and 


"ANDY  HAD  BOUGHT  THE  SOBKEL  FOB  TEN  DOLIABS." 

double  my  money  on  him,  you  see.  You  may  ride  him  on  the  march 
and  carry  our  traps.  I  guess  the  colonel  will  give  you  permission. 
And,  you  know,  that  would  be  a  capital  arrangement  for  you,  for  you 
are  so  sick  and  weak  that  you  are  often  left  behind  on  the  march." 

"  Thank  you,  old  boy,"  said  I  with  a  shrug.     "  You  always  were  a 
good,  kind,  thoughtful  soul ;  but  if  the  choice  must  be  between  joining 


196  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

the  general  cavalcade  of  coffee-coolers  on  this  old  barebones  of  yours 
and  marching  afoot,  I  believe  I'd  prefer  the  infantry." 

However,  we  tied  a  rope  around  the  neck  of  Bonaparte,  as  we 
significantly  called  him,  fastened  him  up  to  a  stake,  rubbed  him  down, 
begged  some  oats  of  Page,  and  pulled  some  handfuls  of  young  grass 
for  him,  and  so  left  him  for  the  night. 

I  do  not  think  Andy  slept  well  that  night.  How  could  he  after  so 
bold  a  dash  into  the  horse  market  ?  Grotesque  images  of  the  wooden 
horse  of  ancient  Troy,  and  of  Don  Quixote  on  his  celebrated  Rosinante, 
charging  the  windmills,  were  no  doubt  hopelessly  mixed  up  in  his 
dreams  with  wild  vagaries  of  General  Grant  at  the  head  of  Mosby's 
men,  fiercely  trying  to  force  a  passage  across  Jericho  Ford.  For  day- 
light had  scarcely  begun  to  peep  into  the  forest  the  next  morning, 
when  Andy  rolled  out  from  under  the  blankets  and  went  to  look  after 
Bonaparte.  I  was  building  a  fire  when  he  came  back.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  he  looked  a  little  solemn. 

"  How's  Bony  this  morning,  Andy?  "  inquired  I. 

Andy  whistled  a  bit,  stuck  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  mounted  a 
log,  took  off  his  cap,  made  a  bow,  and  said,  — 

"  Comrades  and  fellow-citizens,  lend  me  your  ears,  and  be  silent 
that  you  may  hear  !  This  is  my  first  and  last  speculation  in  horse- 
flesh. Bony  is  gone. 

It  was  indeed  true.  We  had  fallen  among  thieves,  and  they  had 
even  baffled  Andy's  plan  for  future  money  making;  for  none  of  us 
ever  laid  eyes  on  Bony  again. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

IN   THE   FRONT    AT   PETERSBURG. 

"  ANDY,  let's  go  a-swimming." 

"  Well,  Harry,  I  don't  know  about  that.  I'd  like  to  take  a  good 
plunge  ;  but,  you  see,  there's  no  telling  how  soon  we  may  move." 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  June  14,  1864.  We  had  been 
marching  and  fighting  almost  continually  for  five  weeks  and  more, 
from  the  Wilderness  to  Spottsylvania,  over  the  North  Anna,  in  at 
Cold  Harbor,  across  the  Pamunky  and  over  the  Chickahominy  to  the 
banks  of  the  James  River,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  which  we  were 
now  lying,  along  a  dusty  road.  We  were  sunburned,  covered  with 
dust,  and  generally  used  up,  so  that  a  swim  in  the  river  would  be  a 
refreshment  indeed. 

Having  learned  from  one  of  the  officers  that  the  intention  evidently 
was  to  remain  where  we  then  were  until  the  entire  corps  should  come 
up,  and  that  we  should  probably  cross  the  river  at  or  somewhere  near 
that  point,  we  resolved  to  risk  it. 

So,  over  a  cornfield  we  started  at  a  good  pace.  We  had  not  gone 
far,  when  we  discovered  a  mule  tied  up  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  with  a 
rope  around  his  neck.  And  this  long-eared  animal,  as  Gothic  as 
Bonaparte  in  his  style  of  architecture,  we  decided,  after  a  solemn 
council  of  war,  to  declare  contraband,  and  forthwith  we  impressed  him 
into  service,  intending  to  return  him,  after  our  bath,  on  our  way  back 
to  camp.  Untying  Bucephalus  from  the  bush,  we  mounted,  Andy  in 
front  and  I  on  behind,  each  armed  with  a  switch,  and  we  rode  along 
gayly  enough,  with  our  feet  dangling  among  the  corn  stalks. 

For  a  while  all  went  well.  We  fell  to  talking  about  the  direction 

197 


198  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

we  had  come  since  leaving  the  Pamunky;  and  Andy,  who  was  usually 
such  an  authority  on  matters  geographical  and  astronomical  that  on 
the  march  he  was  known  in  the  company  as  "  the  compass,"  confessed 
to  me  as  we  rode  on  that  he  himself  had  been  somewhat  turned  about 
in  that  march  over  the  Chickahominy  swamp. 

"And  as  for  me,"  said  I,  "I  think  this  is  the  awfullest  country  to 
get  turned  about  in  that  I  ever  did  see.  Why,  Andy,  while  we  were 
lying  over  there  in  the  road  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  sun  was  going 
down  in  the  east.  Fact !  But  when  I  took  my  canteen  and  went 
over  a  little  ridge  to  the  rear  to  look  for  water  for  coffee,  I  found,  on 
looking  up,  that  on  that  side  of  the  ridge  the  sun  was  all  right.  Yet 
when  I  got  back  to  the  road  and  looked  around,  judge  of  my  surprise 
when  I  found  the  whole  thing  had  somehow  swung  around  again,  and 
the  sun  was  going  down  in  the  east !  And  you  may  judge  still  further 
of  my  surprise,  Andy,  when,  on  going  and  walking  back  and  forth 
across  that  ridge,  I  found  one  particular  spot  from  which,  if  I  looked 
in  one  direction,  the  sun  was  going  down  all  right  in  the  west ;  but 
if  in  the  opposite  direction,  he  was  going  down  all  wrong,  entirely 
wrong,  in  the  east !  " 

"  Whoa  dar  !  Whoa  dar  !  Whar  you  gwine  wid  dat  dar  mule  o' 
mine  ?  Whoa,  Pete  !  " 

The  mule  stopped  stock  still  as  we  caught  sight  of  the  black  head 
and  face  of  a  darky  boy  peering  forth  from  the  door  of  a  tobacco 
house  that  we  were  passing.  Possibly,  he  was  the  owner  of  the  whole 
plantation  now,  and  the  mule  Pete  might  be  his  only  live  stock. 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Pompey  ?  Why,  we're  going  '  on  to 
Richmond ! ' " 

"  On  ter  Richmon' !  An'  wid  dat  dar  mule  o'  mine !  'Clar  to 
goodness,  sodgers  can't  git  along  widout  dat  mule.  Better  git  ofFn. 
dat  dar  mule  !  " 

"  Whip  him  up,  Andy !  "  shouted  I. 


IN  THE  FRONT  AT  PETERSBURG. 


199 


"  Come  up,  Bucephalus  !  "  shouted  Andy. 

And  we  both  laid  on  right  lustily.  But  never  an  inch  would  that 
miserable  mule  budge  from  the  position  he  had  taken  on  hearing  the 
darky's  voice,  until  all  of  a  sudden,  and  as  if  a  mine  had  been  sprung 


BETTER   GIT   OFF*N   DAT   DAB   MULE!" 


under  our  feet,  there  was  such  a  striking  out  of  heels  and  such  an 
uncomfortable  elevation  in  the  rear,  the  angle  of  which  was  only 
increased  by  increased  cudgelling,  that,  at  last,  with  an  enormous 
spring,  Andy  and  I  were  sent  flying  off  into  the  corn- 


200  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  Yi !  yi !  yi  !  Didn'  I  say  better  git  off  n  dat  dar  mule  o'  mine  ? 
Yi !  yi !  yi !  " 

Laughing  as  heartily  as  the  darky  at  our  misadventure,  we  felt  that 
it  would  be  safer  to  make  for  the  river  afoot.  We  had  a  glorious 
plunge  in  the  waters  of  the  James,  and  returned  to  the  regiment  at 
sunset,  greatly  refreshed. 

The  next  day  we  crossed  the  James  in  steamboats.  There  were 
thousands  of  men  in  blue  all  along  both  shores ;  some  were  crossing, 
some  were  already  over,  and  others  were  awaiting  their  turn.  By  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon  we  were  all  well  over,  and  it  has  been  said  that 
had  we  pushed  on  without  delay,  the  story  of  the  siege  of  Petersburg 
would  have  read  quite  differently.  But  we  waited,  —  for  provisions,  I 
believe,  —  and  during  this  halt  the  whole  corps  took  a  grand  swim  in 
the  river.  We  marched  off  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  over  a 
dusty  road  and  without  fresh  water,  and  reached  the  neighborhood 
of  Petersburg  at  midnight;  but  did  not  get  into  position  until  after 
several  days  of  hard  fighting  in  the  woods. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  give  a  clear  and  interesting  account  of 
the  numerous  engagements  in  which  we  took  part  around  that  long 
beleagured  city,  where  for  ten  months  the  two  great  armies  of  the 
North  and  South  sat  down  to  watch  and  fight  each  other  until  the  end 
came.  For,  after  days  and  days  of  manoeuvring  and  fighting,  attack 
and  sally,  it  became  evident  'that  Petersburg  could  not  be  carried  by 
storm,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  sit  down  stubbornly,  and, 
by  cutting  off  all  railroad  supplies  and  communications,  starve  it  into 
surrender. 

It  may  be  interesting,  however,  to  tell  something  of  the  everyday 
life  and  experience  of  our  soldiers  during  that  great  siege. 

Digging  becomes  almost  an  instinct  with  the  experienced  soldier. 
It  is  surprising  how  rapidly  men  in  the  field  throw  up  fortifications, 
how  the  work  progresses,  and  what  immense  results  can  be  accom- 


; 


IN  THE  FRONT  AT  PETERSBURG.  203 

plished  by  a  body  of  troops  in  a  single  night.  Let  two  armies  fight  in 
the  open  field  one  evening.  By  the  next  morning  both  are  strongly 
intrenched  behind  rifle-pits  and  breastworks,  which  it  will  cost  either 
side  much  blood  to  storm  and  take.  If  spades  and  picks  are  at  hand 
when  there  is  need  of  fortifications,  well ;  if  not,  bayonets,  tin  cups, 
plates,  even  jackknives,  are  pressed  into  service  until  better  tools 
arrive ;  and  every  man  works  like  a  beaver. 

Thus  it  was  that  although  throughout  the  eighteenth  of  June  the 
fighting  had  been  severe,  yet,  in  spite  of  weariness  and  darkness,  we 
set  to  work,  and  the  morning  found  us  behind  breastworks ;  these  we 
soon  so  enlarged  and  improved  that  they  became  well-nigh  impregna- 
ble. At  that  part  of  the  line  where  our  regiment  was  stationed,  we 
built  solid  works,  of  great  pine  logs,  rolled  up,  log  on  log,  seven  feet 
high,  and  banked  with  earth  on  the  side  toward  the  enemy,  the  whole 
being  ten  feet  through  at  the  base.  On  the  inside  of  these  breast- 
works we  could  walk  about,  perfectly  safe  from  the  enemy's  bullets, 
which  usually  went  singing  harmlesly  over  our  heads. 

On  the  outside  of  these  works  were  further  defences.  First,  there 
was  the  ditch  made  by  throwing  up  the  ground  against  the  logs ;  then, 
farther  out,  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards  away,  was  .the  abatis  — 
a  peculiar  means  of  defence,  made  by  cutting  off  the  tops  and  heavy 
limbs  of  trees,  sharpening  the  ends,  and  planting  them  firmly  in  the 
ground,  in  a  long  row,  the  sharpened  ends  pointing  toward  the  enemy, 
the  whole  being  so  close,  and  so  compacted  together  with  telegraph 
wires,  everywhere  twisted  in,  that  it  was  impossible  for  a  line  of  battle 
to  get  through  it  without  being  cut  off  to  a  man.  Here  and  there,  at 
intervals,  were  left  gaps  wide  enough  to  admit  a  single  man,  and  it 
was  through  these  man-holes  that  the  pickets  passed  out  to  their  pits 
beyond. 

Fifty  yards  in  front  of  the  abatis  the  pickets  were  stationed. 
When  first  the  siege  began,  picketing  was  dangerous  business.  Both 


204  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

armies  were  bent  on  fight,  and  picketing  meant  simply  sharpshooting. 
As  a  consequence,  at  first  the  pickets  were  posted  only  at  night,  so 
that  from  midnight  to  midnight  the  poor  fellows  lay  in  their  rifle-pits, 
under  a  broiling  July  sun,  with  no  protection  from  the  intolerable 
heat  excepting  the  scanty  shade  of  a  little  pine  brush,  erected  over- 
head, or  in  front  of  the  pit  as  a  screen.  There  the  picket  lay,  flat  on 
his  face,  picking  off  the  enemy's  men  whenever  he  could  catch  sight  of 
a  head,  or  even  so  much  as  a  hand ;  and  right  glad  would  he  be  if, 
when  the  long-awaited  relief  came  at  length,  he  had  no  wounds 
to  show. 

But  later  on,  as  the  siege  progressed,  this  murderous  state  of  affairs 
gradually  disappeared.  Neither  side  found  it  pleasant  or  profitable, 
and  nothing  was  gained  by  it.  It  decided  nothing,  and  only  wasted 
powder  and  ball.  And  so,  gradually  the  pickets  on  both  sides  began 
to  be  on  quite  friendly  terms.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  to  see  a 
Johnny  picket  —  who  would  be  posted  scarcely  a  hundred  yards  away, 
so  near  were  the  tines  —  lay  down  his  gun,  wave  a  piece  of  white 
paper,  as  a  signal  of  truce,  walk  out  into  the  neutral  ground  between 
the  picket  lines,  and  meet  one  of  our  own  pickets,  who,  also  dropping 
his  gun,  would  go  out  to  inquire  what  Johnny  might  want  to-day. 

"  Well,  Yank,  I  want  some  coffee,  and  I'll  trade  tobacco  for  it." 

"  Has  any  of  you  fellows  back  there  some  coffee  to  trade  for 
tobacco  ?  '  Johnny  Picket,'  here,  wants  some  coffee." 

Or,  maybe  he  wanted  to  trade  papers,  a  Richmond  Enquirer  for  a 
New  York  Herald  or  Tribune,  "even  up,  and  no  odds."  Or  he  only 
wanted  to  talk  about  the  news  of  the  day  —  how  "we  'uns  whipped 
you  'uns  up  the  valley  the  other  day  "  ;  or  how  "  if  we  had  Stonewall 
Jackson  yet,  we'd  be  in  Washington  before  winter  " ;  or  maybe  he 
only  wished  to  have  a  friendly  game  of  cards  ! 

There  was  a  certain  chivalrous  etiquette  developed  through  this 
social  intercourse  of  deadly  foemen,  and  it  was  really  admirable. 


SCENE  AMONG  THE  RIFLE-FITS  BEFORE  PETERSBURG. 


IN  THE  FRONT  AT  PETERSBURG.  207 

Seldom  was  there  breach  of  confidence  on  either  side.  It  would  have 
gone  hard  with  the  comrade  who  should  have  ventured  to  shoot  down 
a  man  in  gray  who  had  left  his  gun  and  come  out  of  his  pit  under  the 
sacred  protection  of  a  piece  of  white  paper.  If  disagreement  ever 
occurred  in  bartering,  or  high  words  arose  in  discussion,  shots  were 
never  fired  until  due  notice  had  been  given.  And  I  find  mentioned 
in  one  of  my  old  army  letters  that  a  general  fire  along  our  entire  front 
grew  out  of  some  disagreement  on  the  picket  line  about  trading  coffee 
for  tobacco.  The  two  pickets  couldn't  agree,  jumped  into  their  pits, 
and  began  firing,  the  one  calling  out :  "  Look  out,  Yank,  here  comes 
your  tobacco."  Bang ! 

And  the  other  replying,  —  "  All  right,  Johnny,  here  comes  your 
coffee."  Bang ! 

Great  forts  stood  at  intervals  all  along  the  line  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  and  at  these  the  men  toiled  day  and  night  all  summer  long, 
adding  defence  to  defence,  and  making  "  assurance  doubly  sure,"  until 
the  forts  stood  out  to  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  with  their  sharp  angles 
and  well-defined  outlines,  formidable  structures  indeed.  Without 
attempting  to  describe  them  in  technical  military  language,  I  will 
simply  ask  you  to  imagine  a  piece  of  level  ground,  say  two  hundred 
feet  square,  surrounded  by  a  bank  of  earth  about  twenty  feet  in 
height,  with  rows  of  gabions  1  and  sand  bags  arranged  on  top  of  the 
embankment,  and  at  intervals  along  the  sides,  embrasures  or  port-holes, 
at  which  the  great  cannon  were  planted,  —  and  you  will  have  some 
rough  notion  of  what  one  of  our  forts  looked  like.  Somewhere  within 
the  inclosure,  usually  near  the  centre  of  it,  was  the  magazine,  where 
the  powder  and  shells  were  stored.  This  was  made  by  digging  a  deep 
place  something  like  a  cellar,  covering  it  over  with  heavy  logs,  and 
piling  up  earth  and  sand  bags  on  the  logs,  the  whole,  when  finished, 
having  the  shape  of  a  small  round-topped  pyramid.  At  the  rear  was. 

1  Bottomless  wicker  baskets,  used  to  strengthen  earth-works. 


208  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

left  a  small  passage,  like  a  cellar-way,  and  through  this  the  ammuni- 
tion was  brought  up.  If  ever  the  enemy  could  succeed  in  dropping  a 
shell  down  that  little  cellar  door,  or  in  otherwise  piercing  the  maga- 
zine, then  good  by  to  the  fort  and  all  and  everybody  in  and  around  it ! 

On  the  outside  of  each  large  fort  there  were,  of  course,  all  the 
usual  defences  of  ditch,  abatis,  and  chevaux-de-frise,  to  render  approach 
very  dangerous  to  the  enemy. 

The  enemy  had  fortifications  like  ours,  —  long  lines  of  breastworks, 
with  great  forts  at  commanding  positions  ;  and  the  two  lines  were  so 
near  that,  standing  in  one  of  our  forts,  I  could  have  carried  on  a  con- 
versation with  a  man  in  the  fort  opposite.  I  remember,  while  on  the 
picket-line  one  evening,  watching  a  body  of  troops  moving  along  the 
edge  of  a  wood  within  the  enemy's  works,  and  quite  easily  distinguish- 
ing the  color  of  their  uniforms. 

I  have  said  already  that,  inside  of  our  breastworks,  one  was  quite 
secure  against  the  enemy's  bullets.  But  bullets  were  not  the  only 
things  we  had  to  look  out  for,  —  there  were  the  shell,  the  case-shot, 
and  I  know  not  what  shot  besides.  Every  few  hours  these  would  be 
dropped  behind  our  breastworks,  and  often  much  execution  was  done 
by  them.  To  guard  against  these  missiles,  each  mess  built  what  was 
called  a  "  bomb-proof,"  which  consisted  of  an  excavation  about  six  feet 
square  by  six  deep,  covered  with  heavy  logs,  the  logs  covered  with 
earth,  a  little  back  cellar-way  being  left  on  the  side  away  from  the 
enemy.  Into  this  bomb-proof  we  could  dart  the  moment  the  shelling 
began,  and  be  as  safe  as  in  our  own  mother's  kitchen.  Our  shelter- 
tents  we  pitched  on  top  of  the  bomb-proof,  and  in  this  upper  story  we 
lived  most  of  the  time,  dropping  down  occasionally  into  the  cellar. 

Bang  !  bang !  bang  ! 

"  Fall  into  your  pits,  boys !  "  and  in  a  trice  there*  wasn't  so  much  as 
a  blue  coat  in  sight. 

Familiarity  breeds  contempt, — even  of  danger  ;  and  sometimes  we 


IN  THE  FRONT  AT  PETERSBURG. 


209 


were  caught.  Thus,  one  day,  when  there  had  been  no  shelling  for 
a  long  time,  and  we  had  grown  somewhat  careless,  and  were  scattered 
about  under  the  trees,  some  sleeping  and  others  sitting  on  top  of  the 
breastworks  to  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air,  all  of  a  sudden  the  guns  of 


THE   MAGAZINE    WHERE   THE   POWDER    AND   SHELLS   WKRE    STORED. 

one  of  the  great  forts  opposite  us  opened  with  a  rapid  fire,  dropping 
shells  right  among  us.  Of  course  there  was  a  "  scatteration.  "  as  we 
tried  to  fall  into  our  pits  pell-mell ;  but,  for  all  our  haste,  several  of  us 
were  severely  hurt.  There  was  a  boy  from  Philadelphia,  —  I  forget 
his  name,  —  sitting  on  the  breastworks  writing  a  letter  home  ;  a  piece 


210  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

of  shell  tore  off  his  arm  with  the  pen  in  his  hand.  A  lieutenant 
received  an  iron  slug  in  his  back,  while  a  number  of  other  men  were 
hurt.  And  such  experiences  were  of  frequent  occurrence. 

A  great  victory  had  been  gained  by  our  cavalry  somewhere,  I  think 
by  Sheridan,  and  one  evening  an  orderly  rode  along  the  line  to  each 
regimental  headquarters,  distributing  despatches  containing  an  account 
of  the  victory,  with  instructions  that  the  papers  be  read  to  the  men. 
Cheers  were  given  all  along  the  line  that  night,  and  a  shotted  salute 
was  ordered  at  daylight  the  next  morning. 

At  sunrise  every  available  gun  from  the  Appomattox  to  the 
Weldon  Railroad  must  have  been  brought  into  service  and  trained 
against  the  enemy's  works,  for  the  noise  was  terrific.  And  still  further 
to  increase  the  din,  the  Johnnies,  supposing  it  to  be  a  grand  assault 
along  the  whole  line,  replied  with  every  gun  they  could  bring  to  bear, 
and  the  noise  was  so  great  that  you  would  have  thought  the  very 
thunders  of  doom  were  rolling.  After  the  firing  had  ceased,  the 
Johnnies  were  informed  that  "we  have  only  been  giving  three  iron 
cheers  for  the  victory  Sheridan  has  gained  up  the  valley  lately." 
There  was,  I  presume,  some  regret  on  the  other  side  over  the  loss  of 
powder  and  shot.  At  all  events,  whenever,  after  that,  similar  iron 
cheers  were  given,  and  this  was  not  seldom  the  case,  the  enemy  pre- 
served a  moody  silence. 

After  remaining  in  our  works  for  about  a  month,  we  were  relieved 
by  other  troops  and  marched  off  to  the  left  in  the  direction  of  the 
Weldon  Railroad,  which  we  took  after  severe  fighting.  We  held  it. 
and  at  once  fortified  our  position  with  a  new  line  of  works,  thus  cut- 
ting off  one  of  the  main  lines  of  communication  between  Petersburg 
and  the  South. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

FUN   AND   FROLIC. 

IN  what  way  to  account  for  it  I  know  not,  but  so  it  is,  that  soldiers 
always  have  been,  and  I  suppose  always  will  be,  merry-hearted  fellows 
and  full  of  good  spirits.  One  would  naturally  suppose  that,  having  so 
much  to  do  with  hardship  and  danger  every  day,  they  would  be  sober 
and  serious  above  the  generality  of  men.  But  such  was  by  no  means 
the  case  with  our  Boys  in  Blue.  In  camp,  on  the  march,  nay  even  in 
the  solemn  hour  of  battle,  there  was  ever  and  anon  a  laugh  passing 
down  the  line  or  some  sport  going  on  amongst  the  tents.  Seldom  was 
there  wanting  some  one  noted  for  his  powers  of  story  telling,  to  beguile 
the  weary  hours  about  the  camp  fire  at  the  lower  end  of  the  company 
street,  or  out  among  the  pines  on  picket.  Few  companies  could  be 
found  without  some  native-born  wag  or  wit,  whose  comical  songs  or 
quaint  remarks  kept  the  boys  in  good  humor,  while  at  the  same  time 
each  and  all,  according  to  the  measure  of  their  several  capacities,  were 
given  to  playing  practical  jokes  of  one  kind  or  other  for  the  general 
enlivenment  of  the  camp. 

There  was  Corporal  Harter,  for  example,  of  my  own  company.  I 
do  not  single  him  out  as  a  remarkable  wit,  or  in  any  sense  as  a  shining 
light  in  our  little  galaxy  of  "  Boys  in  Blue  "  ;  but  choose  him  rather 
as  an  average  specimen.  More  than  one  was  the  trick  which  Harter 
played  on  Andy  and  myself  —  though  I  cannot  help  but  remember, 
also,  that  he  sometimes  had  good  ground  for  so  doing,  as  the  following 
will  show. 

It  was  while  we  were  yet  lying  around  Washington,  difting  the 

211 


212  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

winter  of  1863,  that  Harter  and  I  one  day  secured  a  "pass,"  and  went 
into  the  city.  In  passing  the  Treasury  Department  we  found  a  twenty- 
five  cent  note.  We  had,  at  first,  a  mind  to  call  on  the  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury  and  ask  whether  he  had  lost  ^it,  as  we  had  found  it  in 
front  of  his  establishment ;  but  thinking  that  it  would  not  go  very 
far  toward  paying  the  expenses  of  the  war,  and  reflecting  that  even  if 
it  did  belong  to  Uncle  Sam,  we  belonged  to  Uncle  Sam  too,  and  so 
where  could  be  the  harm  of  our  keeping  it,  and  laying  it  out  on  our- 
selves? We  finally  concluded  to  spend  it  at  a  certain  print  shop  on 
Pennsylvania  Avenue,  where  were  exposed  for  sale  great  numbers  of 
colored  pictures,  of  different  generals  and  statesmen,  a  prize  of  cheap 
gilt  jewelry  being  given  with  each  picture.  For  the  jewelry  we  cared 
not  a  whit ;  but  the  pictures  each  of  us  was  anxious  to  possess,  for 
they  would  make  very  nice  decorations  for  our  tents,  we  thought. 
Having,  then,  purchased  a  number  of  these  with  our  treasure  trove, 
and  having  received  from  the  shopkeeper  a  handful  of  brass  earrings, 
which  neither  of  us  wanted  (for  what  in  the  world  did  a  soldier  want 
with  brass  earrings,  or  even  with  gold  ones,  for  the  matter  of  that  ?), 
we  took  our  way  to  the  park,  west  of  the  Capitol  buildings,  and  sat 
down  on  a  bench. 

"  Now,  Harry,"  said  the  corporal,  as  he  sat  wistfully  looking  at  a 
picture  of  a  general  dressed  in  the  bluest  of  blue  uniforms,  who,  with 
sword  drawn  and  horse  at  full  gallop,  dismounted  cannon  in  the  rear, 
and  clouds  of  blue  smoke  in  front,  was  apparently  leading  his  men  on 
to  the  desperate  charge.  The  men  had  not  come  on  the  field  yet,  but 
it  was  of  course  understood,  by  the  general's  looks,  that  they  were 
coining  somewhere  in  the  background.  A  person  can't  have  everything 
in  a  picture,  at  the  rate  of  four  for  a  quarter,  with  a  handful  of 
earrings  thrown  in  to  clinch  the  bargain,  all  of  which,  no  doubt, 
passed^  rapidly  through  the  corporal's  mind  as  he  examined  the 
pictures.  "  Now,  Harry,  how  will  we  divide  'em  ?  " 


FUN  AND  FROLIC.  213 

"Well,  corporal,"  answered  I,  "suppose  we  do  it  in  this  way: 
we'll  toss  up  a  penny  for  it.  '  Heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose,'  you  know. 
If  it  comes  head,  I'll  take  the  pictures  and  you'll  take  the  jewelry;  if 
it  comes  tail,  you'll  take  the  jewelry  and  I'll  take  the  pictures.  That's 
fair  and  square,  isn't  it?" 

The  corporal's  head  could  not  have  been  very  clear  that  morning, 
or  he  would  have  seen  through  this  nicely  laid  little  scheme  as  clearly 
as  one  can  see  through  a  grindstone  with  a  hole  in  the  middle.  But 
the  proposition  was  so  rapidly  announced,  and  set  forth  with  such  an 
appearance  of  candor  and  exact  justice,  that,  not  seeing  the  trap  laid 
for  him,  he  promptly  get  out  a  penny  from  his  pocket,  and,  balancing 
it  on  his  thumb-nail,  while  he  thoughtfully  squinted  up  toward  a  tree- 
top  near  by,  said,  — 

"  I  guess  that's  fair.  Here  goes  —  but,  hold  on  !  How  is  it,  now  ? 
Say  it  over  again." 

"  Why,  it's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face,  man.  Don't  you  see  ? 
If  it  comes  head,  then  I  take  the  pictures  and  you  take  the  jewelry. 
If  it  comes  tail,  then  you  take  the  jewelry  and  I  take  the  pictures. 
Nothing  could  be  plainer  than  that ;  so,  flop  her  up,  corporal." 

"All  right,  Harry.  Here  she  go  — .  But  hold  on  !  "  said  he,  as  a 
new  light  seemed  to  dawn  on  his  mind,  while  he  raised  his  cap,  and 
thoughtfully  scratched  his  head.  "Let  me  see.  Ah,  you  young 
rascal !  You're  sharp,  you  are  !  Going  to  gobble  up  the  whole  grist 
of  illuminated  generals  and  statesmen,'  and  leave  me  this  handful 
of  "brass  earrings  and  breastpins  to  send  home  to  the  girl  I  left  behind 

me—eh?" 

But  every  dog  has  his  day,  and  whether  or  not  Harter  bided  his 
time  for  retaliation,  or  had  quite  forgotten  about  "  heads  I  win,  tails 
you  lose,"  by  the  time  we  got  down  into  Virginia,  yet  so  it  was  that  in 
more  than  one  camp  he  gave  Andy  and  myself  a  world  of  trouble. 
More  than  one  evening  in  winter  quarters,  as  we  sat  about  our  fire, 


214  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

cartridges  were  dropped  down  our  chimney  by  some  unseen  hand, 
driving  us  out  of  our  tent  in  a  jiffy ;  and  it  was  not  seldom  that  our 
pan  of  frying  hard-tack  was  sent  a  flying  by  a  sudden  explosion.  It 
was  wasted  breath  to  ask  who  did  it. 

We  were  lying  in  camp  near  the  Rappahannock  some  time  along  in 
the  fall  of  1863,  when  Andy  said  one  day,  — 

"  Look  here,  Harry,  let's  have  some  roast  beef  once.  I'm  tired  of 
this  everlasting  frying  and  frizzling,  and  my  mouth  just  waters  for  a 
good  roast.  And  I've  just  learned  how  to  do  it,  too ;  for  I  saw  a  fel- 
low over  here  in  another  camp  at  it,  and  I  tell  you  it's  just  fine.  You 
see,  you  take  your  chunk  of  beef  and  wrap  it  up  in  a  cloth  or  news- 
paper, and  then  you  get  some  clay  and  cover  it  thick  all  over  with  the 
clay,  until  it  looks  like  a  big  forty  pound  cannon-ball,  and  then  you 
put  it  in  among  the  red  hot  coals,  and  it  bakes  hard  like  a  brick ;  and 
when  it's  done  you  just  crack  the  shell  off,  and  out  comes  your  roast, 
fit  for  the  table  of  a  king." 

We  at  once  set  to  work,  and  all  went  well  enough  till  Harter  came 
along  that  way.  While  Andy  was  off  for  more  clay,  and  I  was 
looking  after  more  paper,  Harter  fumbled  around  our  beef,  saying  he 
didn't  believe  we  could  roast  it  that  way. 

"  Just  you  wait,  now,"  said  Andy,  coming  in  with  the  clay ;  "  we'll 
show  you." 

So  we  covered  our  beef  thick  with  stiff  clay,  and  rolled  the  great 
ball  into  the  camp  fire,  burying  it  among  the  hot  ashes  and  coals,  and 
sat  down  to  watch  it,  while  the  rest  of  the  boys  were  boiling  their 
coffee  and  frying  their  steaks  for  dinner.  The  fire  was  a  good  one,  and 
there  were  about  a  dozen  black  tin  cups  dangling  on  as  many  long 
sticks,  their  several  owners  squatting  about  in  a  circle,  when,  all  of  a 
sudden,  with  a  terrific  bang,  amid  a  shower  of  sparks  and  hot  ashes, 
the  coffee  boilers  were  scattered  right  and  left,  and  a  dozen  quarts  of 
coffee  sent  hissing  and  sizzling  into  the  fire.  Our  poor  roast  beef  was 


FUN  AND  FROLIC.  215 

a  sorry-looking  mess  indeed  when  we  picked  it  out  of  the  general 
wreck. 

We  always  believed  that  Harter  had  somehow  smuggled  a  car- 
tridge into  that  beef  of  ours,  while  our  backs  were  turned,  and  we 
determined  to  pay  him  back  in  his  own  coin  on  the  very  first  favorable 
opportunity.  It  was  a  long  time,  however,  before  the  coveted  oppor- 
tunity came  ;  in  fact,  it  was  quite  a  year  afterward,  and  happened  in 
this  wise. 

We  were  lying  in  front  of  Petersburg,  some  little  while  after  the 
celebrated  Petersburg  mine  explosion,  of  which  my  readers  have  no 
doubt  often  heard.  We  were  playing  a  game  of  chess  one  day,  Andy 
and  I,  behind  the  high  breastworks.  Our  chessmen  we  had  whittled 
out  of  soft  white  pine  with  our  jack  knives.  I  remember  we  were 
at  first  puzzled  to  know  how  to  distinguish  our  men  ;  for,  all  being 
whittled  out  of  white  pine,  both  sides  were  of  course  alike  white,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  keep  them  from  getting  sadly  confused  during  the 
progress  of  the  game.  At  length,  however,  we  hit  on  the  expedient  of 
staining  one  half  of  our  men  with  tincture  of  iodine,  which  we  begged 
of  the  surgeon,  and  then  they  did  quite  well.  Our  kings  we  called 
generals,  —  one  Grant,  the  other  Lee  ;  the  knights  were  cavalry ;  the 
castles,  forts ;  the  bishops,  chaplains  ;  and  the  pawns,  Yanks  and  Johnny 
Rebs.  We  were  deep  in  a  game  of  chess  with  these  our  men  one  day, 
when  Andy  suddenly  broke  a  long  silence  by  saying,  — 

"  Harry,  do  you  remember  how  Harter  blew  up  our  beef-roast  last 
year,  down  there  along  the  Rappahannock?  And  don't  you  think  it's 
pretty  nearly  time  we  should  pay  him  back  ?  Because  if  you  do,  I've 
got  a  plan  for  doing  it." 

"  Yes,  Andy,  I  remember  it  quite  well  ;  but  then,  you  know,  we 
are  not  quite  sure  he  did  it.  Besides,  he  was  corporal  then,  and  he's 
captain  now,  and  he  might  play  the  mischief  with  us  if  he  catches  us 
at  any  nice  little  game  of  that  sort." 


216  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  "  exclaimed  Andy,  as  he  threw  out  his  cavalry  on 
my  right  flank.  "He  won't  find  out;  and  if  he  does,  'all's  fair  in  love, 
war,  and  controversy,'  you  know,  and  I'm  sure  we  can  rely  on  his  good 
nature,  even  if  he  does  get  a  little  riled." 

On  examining  into  matters  at  the  conclusion  of  the  game,  we  found 
that  the  captain  was  on  duty  somewhere,  and  that,  so  far,  the  coast 
was  clear.  Entering  his  tent,  we  found  a  narrow  bunk  of  poles  on 
either  side,  with  an  open  space  of  several  feet  between  the  two.  Here, 
while  Andy  set  out  in  search  of  ammunition,  I  was  set  to  digging  a 
six-inch  square  hole  in  the  ground,  into  which  we  emptied  the  powder 
of  a*  dozen  cartridges,  covering  all  carefully  with  earth,  and  laying  a 
long  train,  or  running  fuse,  out  of  the  rear  of  the  tent. 

When  Harter  came  in  for  dinner,  and  was  comfortably  seated  on 
his  bunk  with  his  cup  of  bean  soup  on  his  knee,  suddenly  there  was  a 
fiz-z-z  and  a  boom  !  and  Harter  came  dashing  out  of  his  tent,  covered 
with  gravel  and  bespattered  with  bean  soup,  to  the  great  merriment  of 
the  men,  who  instantly  set  up  shouts  of,  — 

"  Fall  in  your  pits  !  "  • 

"  Petersburg  mine  explosion  !  " 

"  'Nother  great  Union  victory  !  " 

Did  he  get  cross?  Well,  it  was  natural  he  should  feel  a  little 
vexed  when  the  fur  was  so  rudely  brushed  the  wrong  way  ;  but  he 
tried  not  to  show  it,  and  laughed  along  with  the  rest ;  for  in  war,  as  in 
peace,  a  man  must  learn  to  join  in  a  laugh  at  his  own  expense  some' 
times,  as  well  as  to  make  merry  over  the  mishaps  of  others. 

• 

A  famous  and  favorite  kind  of  sport,  especially  when  we  had  been 
long  lying  in  camp  in  summer,  or  were  in  quarters  in  winter,  was 
what  was  commonly  known  as  "  raiding  the  sutler." 

We  heard  a  great  deal  in  those  days  about  "  raids."  We  read  in 
the  newspapers  which  occasionally  fell  into  our  hands,  or  heard  on  the 


FUN  AND  FROLIC.  217 

picket-line,  of  raids  into  Maryland  and  raids  into  Pennsylvania,  some- 
times by  Mosby's  men,  and  sometimes  by  Stuart's  cavalry ;  and  it  was 
quite  natural,  when  growing  weary  of  the  dull  monotony  of  camp  life, 
to  look  around  for  some  one  to  raid.  Very  often  the  sutler  was  the 
chosen  victim.  He  was  selected,  not  because  he  was  a  civilian  and 
wore  citizen's  clothes,  but  chiefly  because  of  what  seemed  to  the  boys 
the  questionable  character  of  his  pursuit,  —  making  money  out  of  the 
soldiers.  "  Here  we  are,"  — for  so  the  men  would  reason  — "  here  we 
are,  —  left  home  and  took  our  lives  in  our  hands  —  in  for  '  three  years 
or  sooner  shot '  —  get  thirteen  dollars  a  month  and  live  on  hard-tack  ; 
and  over  there  is  that  sutler,  at  whose  shop  a  man  may  spend  a  whole 
month's  pay  and  hardly  get  enough  to  make  a  single  good  meal  —  it'r 
a  confounded  mean  business  !  " 

The  sutler  seldom  enjoyed  much  respect,  as  how  could  he  when  he 
flourished  and  fattened  on  our  hungry  stomachs  ?  Of  course,  if  a  man 
spent  the  whole  of  his  month's  pay  for  ginger-cakes  and  sardines,  why 
it  was  his  own  fault.  He  did  not  need  to  spend  his  money  if  he  did 
not  choose  to  do  so.  But  it  was  hardly  in  human  nature  to  live  on 
pork,  bean-soup  and  hard-tack  day  after  day,  and  not  feel  the  mouth 
water  at  the  sight  of  the  sutler's  counter,  with  its  array  of  delicacies, 
poor  and  common  though  they  were.  Besides,  the  sutler  usually 
charged  most  exorbitant  prices  —  two  ginger-cakes  for  five  cents,  four 
apples  for  a  quarter,  eighty  cents  for  a  small  can  of  condensed  milk, 
and  ninety  for  a  pound  of  butter,  which  Andy  usually  denounced  in 
vigorous  Biblical  terms  as  being  as  strong  as  Samson  and  as  old  as 
Methuselah.  Maybe  the  sutler's  charges  were  none  too  high,  when  his 
many  risks  were  duly  considered ;  for  he  was  usually  obliged  to  trans- 
port his  goods  a  great  distance,  over  almost  impassable  roads,  and  was 
often  liable  to  capture  by  the  enemy's  foraging  parties,  besides  being 
exposed  to  numerous  other  fortunes  of  war,  whereby  he  might  lose  his 
all  in  an  hour.  But  soldiers  in  search  of.  sport  were  not  much  dis- 


218  RECOLLECTIONS    OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

posed  to  take  a  just  and  fair  view  of  all  his  eircumstances.  What  they 
saw  was  only  this  —  that  they  wanted  somebody  to  raid,  and  who 
could  be  a  fitter  subject  than  the  sutler  ? 

The  sutler's  establishment  was  a  large  wall  tent,  usually  pitched 
on  the  side  of  the  camp  farthest  away  from  the  colonel's  quarters.  It 
was  therefore  in  a  somewhat  exposed  and  tempting  position.  When- 
ever it  was  thought  well  to  raid  him,  the  men  of  his  own  regiment 
would  usually  enter  into  a  contract  with  those  of  some  neighboring 
regiment, — 

"  You  fellows  come  over  here  some  night  and  raid  our  sutler,  and 
then  we'll  come  over  to  your  camp  some  night  and  raid  your  sutler. 
Will  you  do  it  ?" 

It  was  generally  agreed  to,  this  courteous  offer  of  friendly  offices  ; 
and  great,  though  indescribable,  was  the  sport  which  often  resulted. 
For  when  all  had  been  duly  arranged  and  made  ready,  some  dark 
night,  when  the  sutler  was  sleeping  soundly  in  his  tent,  a  skirmish 
line  from  the  neighboring  regiment  would  cautiously  pick  its  way 
down  the  hill,  and  through  the  brush,  and  silently  surround  the  tent. 
One  party,  creeping  close  in  by  the  wall  of  the  tent,  would  loosen  the 
ropes  and  remove  them  from  the  stakes  on  the  one  side,  while  another 
party,  on  the  other  side,  at  a  given  signal,  would  pull  the  whole  con- 
cern down  over  the  sutler's  head.  And  then  would  arise  yells  and 
cheers  for  a  few  moments,  followed  by  immediate  silence  as  the  raiding 
party  would  steal  quietly  away. 

Did  "they  steal  his  goods  ?  Very  seldom ;  for  soldiers  are  not 
thieves,  and  plunder  was  not  the  object,  but  only  fun.  Why  did  not 
the  officers  punish  the  men  for  doing  this  ?  Well,  sometimes  they  did. 
But  sometimes  the  officers  believed  the  sutler  to  be  exorbitant  in  his 
charges  and  oppressive  to  the  men,  and  cared  little  how  soon  he  was 
cleared  out  and  sent  a  packing;  and  therefore  they  enjoyed  the  sport 
quite  as  well  as  the  men,  and  often  did  as  Nelson  did  when  he  put  his 


FUN  AND  FROLIC.  219 

blind  eye  to  the  telescope  and  declared  he  did  not  see  the  signal  to 
recall  the  fleet.  They  winked  at  the  frolic,  and  came  on  the  scene, 
usually,  in  ample  time  to  condole  with  the  sutler,  but  quite  too  late  to 
do  him  any  service. 

Thus,  once  when  the  sutler  was  being  raided  he  hastily  sent  for  the 
"  officer  of  the  day,"  whose  business  it  was  to  keep  order  in  the  camp. 
But  he  was  so  long  in  coming,  that  the  boys  were  in  the  height  of 
their  sport  when  he  arrived ;  and  not  wishing  to  spoil  their  fun,  he 
gave  his  orders  in  two  quite  different  ways,  —  one  in  a  very  loud  voice, 
intended  for  the  sutler  to  hear,  and  the  other  in  a  whisper,  designed 
for  the  boys,  — 

(Loud.)     "  Get  out  of  this  !     Put  you  all  in  the  guardhouse  !  " 

(  Whisper.)     "  Pitch  in,  boys  !     Pitch  in,  boys  !  " 

The  sutler's  tent  was  often  a  favorite  lounging  place  with  the  offi- 
cers. One  evening  early,  a  party  of  about  a  dozen  officers  were  seated 
on  boxes  and  barrels  in  the  sutler's  establishment.  All  of  them  wanted 
cigars,  but  no  one  liked  to  call  for  them,  for  cigars  were  so  dear  that 
no  one  cared  about  footing  the  bill  for  the  whole  party,  and  yet  could 
not  be  so  impolite  as  to  call  for  one  for  himself  alone.  As  they  sat  * 
there,  with  the  flaps  of  the  tent  thrown  back,  they  could  see  quite 
across  the  camp  to  the  colonel's  quarters  beyond. 

"  Now,   boys,"   said  Captain  K ,    "  I  se6  the   chaplain   coming 

down  Company  C  street,  and  I  think  he  is  coming  here  ;  and  if  he  does 
come  here  we'll  have  some  fun  at  his  expense.  We  all  want  cigars, 
and  we  might  as  well  confess,  what  is  an  open  secret,  that  not  one  of  us 
dares  to  call  for  a  cigar  for  himself  alone,  nor  feels  like  footing  the  bill 
for  the  whole  party.  Well,  let  the  sutler  set  out  a  few  boxes  of  cigars 
on  the  counter,  so  as  to  have  them  handy  when  they  are  needed,  and 
you  follow  my  lead,  and  we'll  see  whether  we  can't,  somehow  or  other, 
make  the  chaplain  yonder  pay  the  reckoning." 

The  chaplain  in  question,  be  it  remembered,  made  some  pretension 


220  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

to  literature,  and  considered  himself  quite  an' authority  in  camp  on  all 
questions  pertaining  to  orthography,  etymology,  syntax,  and  prosody ; 
and  presumed  to  be  an  umpire  in  all  matters  which  might  from  time  to 
time  come  into  discussion  in  the  realm  of  letters.  So,  when  he  came 
into  the  sutler's  tent,  Captain  K saluted  him  with,  — 

"Good  evening,  chaplain;  you're  just  the  very  man  we  want  to 
see.  We've  been  having  a  little  discussion  here,  and  as  we  saw  you 
coming  we  thought  we'd  submit  the  question  to  you  for  decision." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  chaplain,  with  a  smile  of  gratification, 
"  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  render  you  what  poor  assistance  I  can. 
May  I  inquire  what  may  be  the  question  under  discussion  ?  " 

"  It  is  but  a  small  thing,"  replied  the  captain  ;  "you  might,  I  sup^ 
pose,  call  it  more  a  matter  of  taste  than  anything  else.  It  concerns  a 
question  of  emphasis,  or  rather,  perhaps,  of  inflection,  and  it  is  this : 
Would  you  say,  '  Gentlemen,  will  you  have  a  cigar  ?  '  or  '  Gentlemen, 
will  you  have  a  cigar  ?  " 

Pushing  his  hat  forward,  as  he  thoughtfully  scratched  his  head,  the 
chaplain,  after  a  pause,  responded,  — 

"  Well,  there  don't  seem  to  be  much  difference  between  the  two. 
But,  on  consideration,  I  believe  I  would  say,  '  Gentlemen,  will  you 
have  a  cigar  ?  '  : 

"  Certainly!"  exclaimed  they  all,  in  full  and  hearty  chorus,  as  they 
•rushed  up  to  the  counter  in  a  body,  and  each  took  a  handful  of  cigars, 
with  a  "  Thank  you,  chaplain,"  leaving  their  bewildered  literary 
umpire  to  pay  the  bill,  —  which,  for  the  credit  of  his  cloth,  I  believe 
he  did. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

CHIEFLY    CULINAKY. 

IT  was  Frederick  the  Great,  I  believe,  who  said  that  "  An  army, 
like  a  serpent,  goes  upon  its  belly ; "  which  was  but  another  way  of 
saying,  that  if  you  want  men  to  fight  well,  you  must  feed  them 
well. 

Of  provisions,  Uncle  Sam  usually  gave  us  a  sufficiency ;  but  the 
table  to  which  he  invited  his  boys  was  furnished  with  little  variety  and 
less  delicacy.  On  first  entering  the  service,  the  drawing  of  our 
rations  was  not  a  small  undertaking,  for  there  were  nearly  a  hundred 
of  us  in  the  company,  and  it  takes  a  considerable  weight  of  bread  and 
pork  to  feed  a  hundred  hungry  stomachs.  But  after  we  had  been  in 
the  field  a  year  or  two,  the  call,  "  Fall  in  for  your  hard-tack  ! "  was 
leisurely  responded  to  by  only  about  a  dozen  men,  —  lean,  sinewy, 
hungry-looking  fellows,  each  with  his  haversack  in  hand.  I  can  see 
them  yet,  as  they  sat  squatting  around  a  gum  blanket,  spread  on  the 
ground,  on  which  were  a  small  heap  of  sugar,  another  of  coffee,  and 
another  of  rice,  may  be,  which  the  corporal  was  dealing  out  by  suc- 
cessive spoonfuls,  as  the  boys  held  open  their  little  black  bags  to 
receive  their  portion,  while  near  by  lay  a  small  piece  of  salt  pork  or 
beef,  or  possibly  a  dozen  potatoes. 

Much  depended,  of  course,  on  the  cooking  of  the  provisions  fur- 
nished us.  At  first  we  tried  a  company  cook ;  but  we  soon  learned 
that  the  saying  of  Miles  Standish,  — 

"  If  you  wish  a  thing  to  be  well  done, 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it  to  others! " 
221 


222  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

applied  to  cooking  quite  as  well  as  to  courting.  We  therefore  soon 
dispensed  with  our  cook,  and  although  scarcely  any  of  us  knew  how  to 
cook  so  much  as  a  cup  of  coffee  when  we  took  the  field,  a  keen  appe- 
tite, aided  by  that  necessity  which  is  ever  the  mother  of  invention, 
soon  taught  us  how  bean  soup  should  be  made  and  hard-tack  prepared. 

Hard-tack !  It  is  a  question  which  I  have  much  debated  with  my- 
self while  writing,  whether  this  chapter  should  not  be  entitled  "  Hard- 
tack." For  as  this  article  of  diet  was  the  grand  staff  of  life  to  the 
Boys  in  Blue,  it  would  seem  that  but  little  could  be  said  of  the  culi- 
nary art  in  camp  without  involving  some  mention  of  hard-tack  at 
almost  every  turn. 

As  I  write,  there  lies  before  me  on  my  table  an  innocent-looking 
cracker,  which  I  have  faithfully  preserved  for  years.  It  is  about  the 
size  and  has  the  general  appearance  of  an  ordinary  soda  biscuit.  If 
you  take  it  in  your  hand,  you  will  find  it  somewhat  heavier  than  an 
ordinary  biscuit,  and  if  you  bite  it  —  but  no  ;  I  will  not  let  you  bite  it, 
for  I  wish  to  see  how  long  I  can  keep  it.  But  if  you  were  to  reduce 
it  to  a  fine  powder,  you  would  find  that  it  would  absorb  considerably 
more  water  than  an  equal  weight  of  wheat  flour ;  showing  that,  in  the 
making  of  hard-tack  the  chief  object  in  view  is  to  stow  away  the 
greatest  amount  of  nourishment  in  the  smallest  amount  of  space. 
You  will  also  observe  that  this  cracker  is  very  hard.  This  you  may 
perhaps  attribute  to  its  great  age.  But  if  you  imagine  that  its  age  is 
to  be  measured  only  by  the  years  which  have  elapsed  since  the  war, 
you  are  greatly  mistaken  ;  for  there  was  a  common  belief  among  the 
boys  that  our  hard-tack  had  been  baked  long  before  the  commence- 
ment of  the  Christian  era  !  This  opinion  was  based  upon  the  fact  that 
the  letters  B.  C.  were  stamped  on  many,  if  not  indeed  all,  of  the 
cracker-boxes.  To  be  sure  there  were  some  wiseacres  who  shook  their 
heads,  and  maintained  that  these  mysterious  letters  were  the  initials  of 
the  name  of  some  army  contractor  or  inspector  of  supplies ;  but  the 


CHIEFLY  CULINARY. 


223 


belief  was  widespread  and  deep-seated  that  they  were  without  a  doubt 
intended  to  set  forth  the  era  in  which  our  bread  had  been  baked. 

For  our  hard-tack  were  very  hard ;  you  could  scarcely  break  them 
with  your  teeth  —  some  of  them  you  could  not  fracture  with  your  fist. 
Still,  as  I  have  said,  there  was  an  immense  amount  of  nourishment 


"  FALL  IN  FOR  HARD  TACK  !  " 

stowed  away  in  them,  as  we  soon  discovered  when  once  we  had 
learned  the  secret  of  getting  at  it.  It  required  some  experience  and 
no  little  hunger  to  enable  one  to  appreciate  hard-tack  aright,  and  it 
demanded  no  small  amount  of  inventive  power  to  understand  how  to 
cook  hard-tack  as  they  ought  to  be  cooked.  If  I  remember  correctly, 
in  our  section  of  the  army  we  had  not  less  than  fifteen  different  ways 
of  preparing  them.  In  other  parts,  I  understand,  they  had  discovered 


224  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

one  or  two  ways  more ;   but  with  us,  fifteen  was  the  limit  of  the  culi- 
nary art  when  this  article  of  diet  was  on  the  board. 

On  the  march  they  were  usually  not  cooked  at  all,  but  eaten  in  the 
raw  state.  In  order,  however,  to  make  them  somewhat  more  pala- 
table, a  thin  slice  of  nice  fat  pork  was  cut  down  and  laid  on  the 
cracker,  and  a  spoonful  of  good  brown  sugar  put  on  top  of  the  pork, 
and  you  had  a  dish  fit  for  a  —  soldier.  Of  course  the  pork  had  just 
come  out  of  the  pickle,  and  was  consequently  quite  raw ;  but  fortu- 
nately we  never  heard  of  trichince  in  those  days.  I  suppose  they  had 
not  yet  been  invented.  When  we  halted  for  coffee,  we  sometimes  had 
fricasseed  hard-tack  —  prepared  by  toasting  them  before  the  hot  coals, 
thus  making  them  soft  and  spongy.  If  there  was  time  for  frying,  we 
either  dropped  them  into  the  fat  in  the  dry  state  and  did  them  brown 
to  a  turn,  or  soaked  them  in  cold  water  and  then  fried  them,  or 
pounded  them  into  a  powder,  mixed  this  with  boiled  rice  or  wheat 
flour,  and  made  griddle-cakes  and  honey  —  minus  the  honey.  When, 
as  was  generally  the  case  on  a  march,  our  hard-tack  had  been  broken 

into  small  pieces  in  our  haversacks,  we  soaked  these  in  water  and  fried 

«•  i 

them  in  pork  fat,  stirring  well  and  seasoning  with  salt  and  sutler's 

pepper,  thus  making  what  was  commonly  known  as  "  Hishy-hashy,  or 
a  hot-fired  stew." 

But  the  great  triumph  of  the  culinary  art  in  camp,  to  my  mind, 
was  a  hard-tack  pudding.  This  was  made  by  placing  the  biscuit  in  a 
stout  canvas  bag,  and  pounding  bag  and  contents  with  a  club  on  a  log, 
until  the  biscuit  were  reduced  to  a  fine  powder.  Then  you  added  a 
little  wheat  flour,  the  more  the  better,  and  made  a  stiff  dough,  which 
was  next  rolled  out  on  a  cracker-box  lid,  like  pie  crust.  Then  you 
covered  this  all  over  with  a  preparation  of  stewed  dried  apples,  d-rop- 
ping  in  here  and  there  a  raisin  or  two,  just  for  "auld  lang  syne's" 
sake.  The  whole  was  then  rolled  together,  wrapped  in  a  cloth,  boiled 
for  an  hour  or  so,  arid  eaten  with  wine  sauce.  The  wine  was,  however, 
usually  omitted,  and  hunger  inserted  in  its  stead. 


CHIEFLY  CULINARY.  225 

Thus  you  see  what  truly  vast  and  unsuspected  possibilities  reside 
in  this  innocent  looking  three-and-a-half-inch-square  harfl-tack  lying 
here  on  my  table  before  me.  Three  like  this  specimen  made  a  meal, 
and  nine  were  a  ration ;  and  this  is  what  fought  the  battles  for  the 
Union. 

The  army  hard-tack  had  but  one  rival,  and  that  was  the  army  bean. 
A  small  white  roundish  soup  bean  it  was,  such  as  you  have  no  doubt 
often  seen.  It  was  quite  as  innocent  looking  as  its  inseparable  com- 
panion, the  hard-tack,  and,  like  it,  was  possessed  of  possibilities  which 
the  uninitiated  would  never  suspect.  It  was  not  so  plastic  an  edible 
as  the  hard-tack,  indeed ;  that  is  to  say,  not  capable  of  entering  into 
so  many  different  combinations,  nor  susceptible  of  so  wide  a  range  of 
use,  but  the  one  great  dish  which  might  be  made  of  it  was  so  pre-emi- 
nently excellent,  that  it  threw  hishy-hashy  and  hard-tack  pudding 
quite  into  the  shade.  This  was  "  baked  beans."  No  doubt  bean  soup 
was  very  good,  as  it  was  also  very  common  ;  but  oh,  "  baked  beans  !" 

I  had  heard  of  the  dish  before,  but  had  never,  even  remotely, 
imagined  what  toothsome  delights  lurked  in  the  recesses  of  a  camp- 
kettle  of  beans,  baked  after  the  orthodox  backwoods  fashion,  until  one 
day  Bill  Strickland,  whose  home  was  in  the  lumber  regions,  where  the 
dish  had  no  doubt  been  first  invented,  said  to  me,  — 

"  Come  round  to  our  tent  to-morrow  morning ;  we're  going  to  have 
baked  beans  for  breakfast.  If  you  will  walk  around  to  the  lower  end 
of  our  company  street  with  me,  I'll  show  you  how  we  bake  beans  up 
in  the  country  I  come  from." 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  boys  were 
already  busy.  They  had  an  immense  camp-kettle  about  two  thirds 
full  of  parboiled  beans.  Near  by  they  had  dug  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
about  three  feet  square  and  two  deep,  in  which  and  on  top  of  which  a 
great  fire  was  to  be  made  about  dusk,  so  as  to  get  the  hole  thoroughly 
heated  and  full  of  red-hot  coals  by  the  time  tattoo  sounded.  Into  this 


226  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

hole  the  camp-kettle  was  then  set,  with  several  pounds  of  fat  pork  on 
the  top  of  the  beans,  and  securely  covered  with  an  inverted  mess  pan. 
It  was  sunk  into  the  red-hot  coals,  by  which  it  was  completely 
concealed,  and  was  left  there  all  night  to  bake,  one  of  the  camp 
guards  throwing  a  log  on  the  fire  from  time  to  time  during  the  night, 
to  keep  matters  agoing. 

Early  the  next  morning  some  one  shook  me  roughly,  as  I  lay  sleep- 
ing soundly  in  my  bunk. 

"  Get  up,  Harry.  Breakfast  is  ready.  Come  over  to  our  tent.  If 
you  never  ate  baked  beans  before,  you  never  ate  anything  worth 
eating." 

I  found  three  or  four  of  the  boys  seated  around  the  camp-kettle, 
each  with  a  tin  plate  on  his  knee  and  a  spoon  in  his  hand,  doing  their 
very  best  to  establish  the  truth  of  the  adage,  that  "  the  proof  of  the 
pudding  is  in  the  eating."  Now  it  is  a  far  more  difficult  matter 
to  describe  the  experiences  of  the  palate  than  of  either  the  eye  or  the 
ear,  and  therefore  I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell  the  reader  how  very  good 
baked  beans  are.  The  only  trouble  wtth  a  camp-kettle  full  of  this 
delicious  food  was,  that  it  was  gone  so  soon.  Where  did  it  get  to, 
anyhow  ?  It  was  something  like  Father  Tom's  quart  of  drink,  "  an 
irrational  quantity,  because  it  was  too  much  for  one,  and  too  little 
for  two." 

Still,  too  much  of  a  good  thing  is  too  much ;  and  one  might  get 
quite  too  much  of  beans  (except  in  the  state  above  described),  as  you 
will  find  if  you  ask  some  friend  or  acquaintance  who  was  in  the  war 
to  sing  you  the  song  of  "  The  Army  Bean."  And  remember,  please, 
to  ask  him  to  sing  the  refrain  to  the  tune  sometimes  called  "  Days  of 
Absence,"  and  to  pull  up  sharp  on  the  last  word.  — 

"  Beans  for  breakfast, 
Beans  for  dinner, 
Beans  for  supper, 
BEANS!" 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"HATCHER'S  KUN." 

WHILE  we  were  yet  before  Petersburg,  two  divisions  of  our  corps 
(the  Fifth),  with  two  divisions  of  the  Ninth,  leaving  the  line  of  works 
at  the  Weldon  Railroad,  were  pushed  out  still  farther  to  the  left,  with 
the  intention  of  turning  the  enemy's  right  flank. 

Starting  out,  therefore,  early  on  the  morning  of  Thursday,  October 
27,  1864,  with  four  days'  rations  in  our  haversacks,  we  moved  off 
rapidly  by  the  left,  striking  the  enemy's  picket  line  about  ten  o'clock. 

"Pop!  pop!  pop!  Boom!  boom!  boom!  We're  in  for  it  again, 
boys ;  so,  steady  on  the  left  there,  and  close  up." 

Away  into  the  woods  we  plunge,  in  line  of  battle,  through  briers 
and  tangled  undergrowth,  beneath  the  great  trees  dripping  with  rain. 
We  lose  the  points  of  the  compass,  and  .halt  every  now  and  then  to 
close  up  a  gap  in  the  line  by  bearing  off  to  the  right  or  left.  Then 
forward  we  go  through  the  brush  again,  steady  on  the  left  and  guide 
right,  until  I  feel  certain  that  officers  as  well  as  men  are  getting  pretty 
well  "into  the  woods"  as  to  the  direction  of  our  advance.  It  is 
raining,  and  we  have  no  sun  to  guide  us,  and  the  moss  is  growing  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  trees.  I  see  one  of  our  generals,  sitting  on  his 
horse,  with  his  pocket  compass  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  peering 
around  into  the  interminable  tangle  of  brier  and  brush,  with  an 
expression  of  no  little  perplexity. 

Yet  still  on,  boys,  while  the  pickets  are  popping  away,  and  the  rain 
is  pouring  down.  The  evening  falls  early  and  cold,  as  we  come  to  a 
stand  in  line  of  battle,  and  put  up  breastworks  for  the  night. 

227 


228  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  DRUMMER   BOY. 

We  have  halted  on  the  slope  of  a  ravine.  Minie  balls  are  singing 
over  our  heads  as  we  cook  our  coffee,  while  sounds  of  axes  and  falling 
trees  are  heard  on  all  sides;  and  still  that  merry  "  z-i-p  !  z-i-p  !  "  goes 
on  among  the  tree-tops,  and  sings  us  to  sleep  at  length,  as  we  lie  down, 
shivering  under  our  India-rubber  blankets,  to  get  what  rest  we  may. 

How  long  we  had  slept  I  did  not  know,  when  some  one  shook  me, 
and  in  a  whisper  the  word  passed  around,  — 

"  Wake  up,  boys  !  Wake  up,  boys  !  Don't  make  any  noise,  and 
take  care  your  tin  cups  and  canteens  don't  rattle.  We've  got  to  get 
out  of  this  on  a  double  jump  !  " 

We  were  in  a  pretty  fix  indeed  !  In  placing  the  regiments  in  posi- 
tion, by  some  blunder,  quite  excusable  no  doubt,  in  the  darkness  and 
the  tangled  forest,  we  had  been  unwittingly  pushed  beyond  the  main 
line,  —  were,  in  fact,  quite  outside  the  picket  line  !  It  needed  only 
daylight  to  let  the  enemy  see  his  game,  and  sweep  us  off  the  boards. 
And  daylight  was  fast  coming  in  the  east. 

Long  after,  a  company  A  boy,  who  was  on  picket  that  night,  told 
me  that,  upon  going  to  the  rear  somewhere  about  three  o'clock,  to  cook 
a  cup  of  coffee  at  a  half -extinguished  fire,  a  cavalry  picket  ordered  him 
back  within  the  lines. 

"  The  lines  are  not  back  there ;  my  regiment  is  out  yonder,  in 
front,  on  skirmish !  " 

"  No,"  said  the  cavalry  man,  "  our  cavalry  is  the  extreme  picket- 
line,  and  our  orders  are  to  send  in  all  men  beyond  us." 

"  Then  take  me  at  once  to  General  Bragg's  headquarters,"  said  the 
Company  A  boy. 

When  General  Bragg  learned  the  true  state  of  affairs,  he  at  once 
ordered  out  an  escort  of  five  hundred  men,  to  bring  in  our  regiment. 

Meanwhile,  we  were  trying  to  get  back  of  our  own  accord. 

"  This  way,  men !  "  said  a  voice  in  a  whisper,  ahead. 

"  This  way,  men  !  "  said  another  voice  in  the  rear. 


"HATCHER'S  HUN."  231 

That  we  were  wandering  about  vainly  in  the  darkness,  and  under 
no  certain  leadership,  was  evident,  for  I  noticed  in  the  dim  light  that, 
in  our  tramping  about  in  the  tangle,  we  had  twice  crossed  the  same 
fallen  tree,  and  so  must  have  been  moving  in  a  circle. 

And  now,  as  the  day  is  dawning  in  the  east,  and  the  enemy's 
pickets  see  us  trying  to  steal  away,  a  large  force  is  ordered  against  us, 
and  comes  sweeping  down  with  yells  and  whistling  bullets,  —  just  as 
the  escort  of  five  hundred,  with  reassuring  cheers,  comes  up  from  the 
rear  to  our  support ! 

Instantly,  we  are  in  the  cloud  and  smoke  of  battle.  A  battery  of 
artillery,  hastily  dragged  up  into  position,  opens  on  the  charging  line 
of  gray  with  grape  and  canister,  while  from  bush  and  tree  pours  back 
and  forth  the  dreadful  blaze  of  musketry.  For  half  an  hour  the  con- 
flict rages  fierce  and  high  in  the  dawning  light  and  under  the  dripping 
trees,  —  the  officers  shouting,  and  the  men  cheering  and  yelling  and 
charging,  often  fighting  hand  to  hand  and  with  bayonets  locked  in 
deadly  encounter,  while  the  air  is  cut  by  the  whistling  lead,  and  the 
deep  bass  of  the  cannon  wakes  the  echoes  of  the  forest. 

But  at  last  the  musketry  fire  gradually  slackens,  and  we  find  our- 
selves out  of  danger. 

The  enemy's  prey  has  escaped  him,  and,  to  the  wonder  of  all,  we 
are  brought  within  the  lines  again,  begrimed  with  smoke,  and  leaving 
many  of  our  poor  fellows  dead  or  wounded  on  the  field. 

Anxiously,  every  man  looked  about  for  his  chum  and  messmates, 
lost  sight  of  during  the  whirling  storm  of  battle  in  the  twilight  woods. 
And  I,  too,  looked ;  but  where-  was  Andy  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

KILLED,    WOUNDED,    OK   MISSING  ? 

ANDY  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

All  along  the  line  of  battle-worn  men,  now  gathered  in  irregular 
groups  behind  the  breastworks,  and  safe  from  the  enemy,  I  searched 
for  him — and  searched  in  vain.  Not  a  soul  had  tidings  of  him.  At 
last,  however,  a  soldier  with  his  blouse  sleeve  ripped  up,  and  a  red- 
stained  bandage  around  his  arm,  told  me  that,  about  daylight,  when 
the  enemy  came  sweeping  down  on  us,  he  and  Andy  were  behind 
neighboring  trees.  He  himself  received  a  ball  through  the  arm,  and 
was  busy  trying  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood,  when,  looking  up,  he  saw 
Andy  reel,  and,  he  thought,  fall.  He  was  not  quite  sure  it  was  Andy, 
but  he  thought  so. 

Andy  killed  !  What  should  I  do  without  Andy  ?  —  the  best  and 
truest  friend,  the  most  companionable  messmate,  that  a  soldier  ever 
could  hope  to  have  !  It  could  not  be !  I  would  look  farther  for  him. 

Out,  therefore,  I  went,  over  the  breastworks  to  the  picket-line, 
where  the  rifles  were  popping  away  at  intervals.  I  searched  among 
trees  and  behind  bushes,  and  called  and  called,  but  all  in  vain.  Then 
the  retreat  was  sounded,  and  we  were  drawn  off  the  field,  and  marched 
back  to  the  fortifications  which  we  had  left  the  day  before. 

Toward  evening,  as  we  reached  camp,  I  obtained  permission  to 
examine  the  ambulance  trains,  in  search  of  my  chum.  As  one  train 
after,  another  came  in,  I  climbed  up  and  looked  into  each  ambulance  ; 
but  the  night  had  long  set  in  before  I  found  him  —  or  thought  I  had 
found  him.  Raising  my  lantern  high,  so  as  to  throw  the  light  full  011 

232 


KILLED,    WOUNDED,    OR  MISSING.  233 

the  face  of  the  wounded  man  lying  in  a  stupor  on  the  floor  of  the 
wagon,  I  was  at  first  confident  it  was  Andy ;  for  the  figure  was  short, 
well  built,  and  had  raven  black  hair. 

"  Andy  !     Andy  !     Where  are  you  hurt  ?  "     I  cried. 

But  no  answer  came.  Rolling  him  on  his  back  and  looking  full 
into  his  face,  I  found,  alas!  a  stranger  —  a  manly,  noble  face,  too,  but 
no  life,  no  signs  of  life,  in  it.  There  were  indeed  a  very  low,  almost 
imperceptible  breathing,  and  a  faint  pulse  —  but  the  man  was  evi- 
dently dying. 

About  a  week  afterward,  having  secured  a  pass  from  corps  head- 
quarters, I  started  for  City  Point,  to  search  the  hospitals  there  for  my 
chum.  The  pass  allowed  me  not  only  to  go  through  all  the  guards  I 
might  meet  on  my  way,  but  also  to  ride  free  to  City  Point  over  the 
railroad  —  "  General  Grant's  railroad,"  we  called  it. 

Properly  speaking,  this  was  a  branch  of  the  road  from  City  Point  to 
Petersburg,  tapping  it  about  midway  between  the  two  places,  and  from 
that  point  following  our  lines  closely  to  the  extreme  left  of  our  position. 
Never  was  road  more  hastily  built.  So  rapidly  did  the  work  advance, 
that  scarcely  had  we  learned  such  a  road  was  planned,  before  one  eve- 
ning the  whistle  of  a  locomotive  was  heard  down  the  line,  only  a  short 
distance  to  our  right.  No  grading  was  done.  The  ties  were  simply 
laid  on  the  top  of  the  ground,  the  rails  were  nailed  fast,  and  the  rolling- 
stock  was  put  on  without  waiting  for  ballast ;  and  there  the  railroad 
was  —  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  "  as  crooked  as  a  dog's  hind  leg." 
At  only  one  point  had  any  cutting  been  done,  and  that  was  where  the 
road,  after  climbing  a  hill,  came  within  range  of  the  enemy's  batteries. 
The  first  trains  which  passed  up  and  down  afforded  a  fine  mark,  and 
were  shelled  vigorously,  the  enemy's  aim  becoming,  with  daily  practice, 
so  exact,  that  nearly  every  train  was  hit  somewhere.  The  hill  was 
then  cut  through,  and  the  fire  avoided.  It  was  a  rough  road,  and  the 
riding  was  full  of  fearful  jolts ;  but  it  saved  thousands  of  mules,  and 


234  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

enabled  General  Grant  to  hold  his  position  during  the  winter  of  the 
Petersburg  siege. 

I  was  obliged  to  make  an  early  start,  for  the  train  left  General 
Warren's  headquarters  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  When  I 
reached  the  station,  I  found  on  the  platform  a  huge  pile  of  boxes  and 
barrels,  nearly  as  high  as  a  house,  which  I  was  informed  was  the  Fifth 
Corps'  share  of  a  grand  dinner  which  the  people  of  New  York 
had  just  sent  down  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  Before  the  train 
arrived  I  had  seen  enough  to  cause  me  to  fear  that  a  very  small  por- 
tion of  the  contents  of  those  boxes  and  barrels  would  ever  find  its  way 
into  the  haversack  of  a  drummer-boy.  For  I  had  not  been  contem- 
plating the  pile,  with  a  wistful  eye,  very  long,  before  a  certain  sergeant 
came  out  of  a  neighboring  tent,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  followed  by 
two  darkies,  one  of  whom  carried  an  axe. 

"  Knock  open  that  bar'l,  Bill,"  said  the  sergeant. 

Bill  did  so.  The  sergeant,  thrusting  in  his  hand,  pulled  out  a  fat 
turkey  and  a  roll  of  butter. 

"  Good  !  "  said  he.     "  Now  let's  see  what's  in  that  box." 

Smash  went  Bill's  axe  into  the  side  of  the  box. 

"  Good  again  ! "  said  the  sergeant,  taking  out  a  chicken,  several 
tumblers  of  jelly,  and  a  great  pound  cake,  which  latter  made  me  feel 
quite  homesick.  "  Now,  Bill,"  continued  the  sergeant,  "  let's  have 
breakfast." 

City  Point  was  a  stirring  place  at  that  time.  It  was'  General 
Grant's  headquarters,  and  the  depot  of  all  supplies  for  the  army ;  and 
here  I  found  the  large  hospitals,  which  I  meant  to  search  for  Andy, 
although  I  scarcely  hoped  to  find  him. 

Into  hospital  tents  at  one  end,  and  out  at  the  other,  looking  from 
side  to  side  at  the  long  white  rows  of  cots,  and  inquiring  as  I  went,  I 
searched  long  and  almost  despairingly,  until  at  last  —  there  he  was, 
sitting  on  his  cot,  his  head  neatly  bandaged,  writing  a  letter. 


KILLED,    WOUNDED,    OR  MISSING.  235 

Coming  up  quietly  behind  him,  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoulder 
with,  "  Andy,  old  boy,  have  I  found  you  at  last  ?  I  thought  you  were 
killed !  " 

"  Why,  Harry  !     God  bless  you  !  " 

The  story  was  soon  told.  "  A  clip  in  the  head,  you  see,  Harry,  out 
there  among  the  trees,  when  the  Johnnies  came  down  on  us,  yelling 
like  demons.  All  got  black  before  me  as  I  reeled  and  fell.  By  and 
by,  coming  to  myself  a  little,  I  begged  a  man  of  a  strange  regiment  to 
help  me  off,  and  so  I  got  down  here.  It's  nothing  much,  Harry,  and 
I'll  soon  be  with  you  again, — not  nearly  so  bad  as  that  poor  fellow 
over  there,  the  man  with  the  black  hair.  His  is  a  wonderful  case.  He 
was  brought  in  the  same  day  I  was,  with  a  wound  in  the  head 
which  the  doctors  said  was  fatal.  Every  day  we  expected  him  to  die  ; 
but  there  he  lies  yet,  breathing  very  low,  conscious,  but  unable 
to  speak  or  to  move  hand  or  foot.  Some  of  his  company  came 
yesterday  to  see  him.  They  had  been  with  him  when  he  fell,  had  sup- 
posed him  mortally  wounded,  and  had  taken  all  his  valuables  out 
of  his  pockets,  to  send  home.  Among  them  was  an  ambrotype  of  his 
wife  and  child.  Well  you  just  should  have  seen  that  poor  fellow's  face 
when  they  opened  that  ambrotype  and  held  it  before  his  eyes !  He 
couldn't  speak,  or  reach  out  his  hand  to  take  the  picture  :  and  there  he 
lay,  convulsed  with  feeling,  while  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks." 

On  looking  at  him,  I  found  it  was  the  very  man  I  had  seen  in  the 
ambulance,  and  mistaken  for  Andy. 

Before  returning  to  camp,  on  the  evening  train,  I  strolled  along  the 
wharf  and  watched  the  boats  coming  and  going,  lading  and  unlading 
their  cargoes  of  army  supplies.  A  company  of  colored  soldiers  was 
doing  guard  duty  at  one  point  along  the  wharf.  The}r  were  evidently 
proud  of  their  uniforms,  and  big  with  importance  generally.  By  and 
by  two  officers  came  leisurely  walking  toward  the  wharf,  one  of  whom 
I  at  once  recognized  as  General  Grant.  He  was  smoking  a  cigar.  As 


236  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

the  two  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  wharf,  looking  up  the  river  and  con- 
versing in  low  tones,  one  of  the  colored  guards  came  up  behind  them 
and  tapped  the  general  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Beg  pardon,  gen'l,"  said  the  guard,  giving  the  military  salute, 
"  but  dere  ain't  no  smokin'  allowed  on  dis  yere  warf." 

"  Are  those  your  orders  ?  "  asked  the  general,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  Yes,  sah  ;  dem's  de  orders." 

Promptly  taking  his  cigar  from  his  lips,  the  general  threw  it  into 
the  water. 

On  my  return  to  camp,  late  in  the  evening,  I  found  that  the  com- 
rade with  whom  I  was  messing  during  Andy's  absence,  had  already 
"turned  in  "  for  the  night.  Leaning  upon  his  elbow  on  his  bunk,  as  I 
was  stirring  up  the  fire,  in  order  to  make  a  cup  of  coffee,  he  said,  — 

"  There  is  your  share  of  the  dinner  the  New  York  people  sent  down 
to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac." 

"  Where  ?  "  inquired  I,  looking  around  everywhere,  in  all  the  cor- 
ners of  the  tent.  "  I  don't  see  it." 

"  Why,  there  on  your  knapsack,  in  the  corner." 

On  looking  toward  the  spot  indicated,  I  found  one  potato,  half  an 
onion,  and  the  gristly  end  of  a  chicken  wing  ! 

"You  see,"  continued  my  messmate,  "the  New  York  people  meant 
well,  but  they  have  no  idea  how  big  a  thing  this  Army  of  the  Potomac 
is,  and  they  did  not  stop  to  consider  how  many  toll-gates  their  dinner 
would  have  to  pass  in  order  to  reach  us.  By  the  time  corps,  division, 
brigade,  regimental,  and  company  headquarters  had  successively 
inspected  and  taken  toll  out  of  the  boxes  and  barrels,  there  was 
precious  little  left  for  the  high  private  in  the  rear  rank." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

A  WINTER   RAID   TO   NORTH   CAROLINA. 

ABOUT  the  beginning  of  December,  1864,  we  were  busy  building 
cabins  for  the  winter.  Everywhere  in  the  woods  to  our  rear  were 
heard  the  sound  of  axes  and  the  crash  of  falling  trees.  Men  were 
carrying  pine  logs  on  their  shoulders,  or  dragging  them  along  the 
ground  with  ropes,  for  the  purpose  of  building  our  last  winter  quarters ; 
for  of  the  three  years  for  which  we  had  enlisted  but  a  few  months 
remained.  The  camp  was  a  scene  of  activity  and  interest  on  all  sides. 
Here  were  some  men  "  notching  "  the  logs,  to  fit  them  firmly  together 
at  the  corners ;  yonder,  one  was  hewing  rude  Robinson  Crusoe  boards, 
for  the  eaves  and  gables  ;  there,  a  man  was  digging  clay  for  the  chim- 
ney, which  his  messmate  was  cat-sticking  up  to  a  proper  height ;  while 
some  had  already  stretched  their  shelters  over  rude  cabins,  and  were 
busy  cooking  their  suppers.  Just  then,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it  in 
those  uncertain  days,  an  orderly  rode  into  camp  with  some  orders 
from  headquarters,  and  all  building  was  directed  to  be  stopped  at 
once. 

"  We  have  orders  to  move,  Andy,"  said  I,  coming  into  the  half- 
finished  cabin,  where  Andy  (lately  returned  from  hospital)  was 
chinking  the  cracks  in  the  side  of  the  house. 

"  Orders  to  move  !  Why,  where  in  the  world  are  we  going  this 
time  of  year?  I  thought  we  had  tramped  around  enough  for  one 
campaign,  and  were  going  to  settle  down  for  the  winter." 

"  I  don't  know  where  we're  going  ;  but  they  say  the  Sixth  Corps 
will  relieve  us  in  the  morning,  and  we  are  to  pull  out,  anyhow." 

237 


238  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

We  were  not  deceived.  At  daylight  next  morning,  December 
sixth,  we  did  "pack  up  and  fall  in,"  and  move  out  from  our  fortified 
camp,  away  to  the  rear,  where  we  lay  all  day  massed  in  the  woods, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  to  speculate  as  to  the  direction  we  were 
to  take. 

From  daylight  of  Wednesday,  December  seventh,  we  marched, 
through  rain  and  stiff  mud,  steadily  toward  the  south,  crossing  the 
Nottaway  River  on  pontoons  at  eight  P.  M.,  and  halting  at  midnight 
for  such  rest  as  we  could  find  on  the  cold,  damp  soil  of  a  cornfield. 
Next  day  on  again  we  went,  straight  toward  the  south,  through  Sussex 
Court  House  at  ten  A.  M.,  halting  at  dusk  near  the  Weldon  and 
Petersburg  Railway,  about  five  miles  from  the  North  Carolina  line. 

Though  we  did  not  then  know  what  all  this  meant,  we  soon 
learned  that  it  was  simply  a  winter  raid  on  the  enemy's  communi- 
cations, the  intention  being  to  destroy  the  Weldon  road,  and  so 
render  it  useless  to  him.  True,  we  had  already  cut  that  same  road 
near  Petersburg,  but  the  enemy  still  brought  his  supplies  on  it  from 
the  south,  near  to  the  point  where  our  lines  were  thrown  across,  and 
by  means  of  wagons  carried  these  supplies  around  our  left,  and  safely 
into  Petersburg. 

Never  was  railway  more  completely  destroyed.  The  morning  after 
we  had  reached  the  scene  of  operations,  in  the  drizzling  rain  and 
falling  sleet,  the  whole  command  was  set  to  work.  As  far  as  the  eye 
could  see  down  the  road  were  men  in  blue,  divested  of  weapons  and 
accoutrements,  prying  and  wrenching  and  tearing  away  at  iron  rails 
and  wooden  ties.  It  was  a  well-built  road,  and  hard  to  tear  up.  The 
rails  were  what  are  known  as  "  T  "  rails,  and  each  being  securely  fast- 
ened to  its  neighbor,  at  either  end,  by  a  stout  bar  of  iron  or  steel, 
which  had  been  forced  into  the  groove  of  the  T,  the  track  was 
virtually  two  long,  unbroken  rails  throughout  its  whole  length. 

"  No  use  tryin'  to  tear  up  them  rails  from  the  ties,  major,"  said  an 


A    WINTER   RAID  IN  NORTH   CAROLINA. 


239 


old  railroader,  with  a  touch  of  his  cap.  "  The  plagued  things  are  all 
spliced  together  at  the  j'ints,  and  the  only  way  to  get  them  off  is  to 
pry  up  the  whole  thing,  rails,  ties,  and  all,  and  then  split  the  ties  off 
from  the  rails  when  you've  got  her  upside  down." 

So,  with  fence  rails  for  levers,  the  men  fell  to  work,  prying  and 
heave-I-ho-ing,  until  one  side  of  the  road,  ties,  track,  and  all,  pulled 


WRECKING  THE  RAILWAY. 


and  wrenched  by  thousands  of  strong  arms,  began  to  loosen  and  move, 
and  was  raised  gradually  higher  and  higher.  Forced  at  last  to 
a  perpendicular,  it  was  pushed  over,  and  laid  upside  down,  with 
a  mighty  cheer  from  the  long  line  of  wreckers  ! 

Once  the  thing  was  started  it  was  easy  enough  to  roll  miles  and 
miles  of  it  over  without  a  break.  And  so  brigade  after  brigade  rolled  it 
along  ;  tearing  and  splitting  off  the  ties,  and  wrenching  away  the  rails. 


240  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

It  was  not  enough,  however,  merely  to  destroy  the  track.  The 
rails  must  be  made  forever  useless  as  rails.  Accordingly,  the  ties  were 
piled  in  heaps,  or  built  up  as  children  build  corn-cob  houses,  and  then 
the  heaps  were  fired.  The  rails  were  laid  across  the  top  of  the  burning 
pile,  where  they  soon  became  red  hot  in  the  middle,  and  bent  them- 
selves double  by  the  weight  of  their  ends,  which  hung  out  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  fire.  In  some  cases,  however,  a  grim  and  humorous  con- 
ceit led  to  a  more  artistic  use  of  the  heated  rails,  for  many  of  them 
were  taken  and  carried  to  some  tree  hard  by,  and  twisted  two  or  three 
times  around  the  trunk,  while  not  a  few  of  the  men  hit  on  the  happy 
device  of  bending  the  rails,  some  into  the  shape  of  a  U,  and  others 
into  the  shape  of  an  S,  and  setting  them  up  by  pairs  against  the  fences 
along  the  line,  in  order  that,  in  this  oft-repeated  iron  U  S,  it  might  be 
seen  that  Uncle  Sam  had  been  looking  around  in  those  parts. 

When  darkness  came,  the  scene  presented  by  that  long  line  of 
burning  ties  was  wild  and  weird.  Rain  and  sleet  had  been  falling  all 
day,  and  there  was  frost  as  well,  and  we  lay  down  at  night  with  stiff 
limbs,  aching  bones,  and  chattering  teeth.  Everything  was  covered 
with  a  coating  of  ice ;  so  that  Andy  and  I  crept  under  a  wagon  for 
shelter  and  a  dry  spot  to  lie  down  in.  But  the  horses,  tied  to  the 
wheels,  gave  us  little  sleep.  Scarcely  would  we  fall  into  a  doze,  when 
one  of  the  horses  would  poke  his  nose  between  the  wheels,  or  through 
the  spokes,  and  whinny  pitifully  in  our  ears.  And  no  wonder,  either, 
we  thought,  when  crawling  out  at  daybreak,  we  found  the  poor  crea- 
tures covered  with  a  coating  of  ice,  and  their  tails  turned  to  great 
icicles.  The  trees  looked  very  beautiful  in  their  magnificent  frost- 
work ;  but  we  were  too  cold  and  wet  to  admire  anything,  as  our  dr  ms 
hoarsely  beat  the  "  assembly,"  and  we  set  out  for  a  two  days'  wet  and 
weary  march  back  to  camp  in  front  of  Petersburg. 

Both  on  the  way  down  and  on  the  retreat,  we  passed  many  fine 
farms  or  plantations.  It  was  a  new  country  to  us,  and  no  other 


A    WINTER   RAID  IN  NORTH   CAROLINA.  241 

Northern  troops  had  passed  through  it.  One  consequence  of  this  was 
that  we  were  everywhere  looked  upon  with  wonder  by  the  white 
inhabitants,  and  by  the  colored  population  as  deliverers  sent  for  their 
express  benefit. 

All  along  the  line  of  march,  both  down  and  back,  the  overjoyed 
darkies  flocked  to  us  by  hundreds,  old  and  young,  sick  and  well,  men, 
women,  and  children.  Whenever  we  came  to  a  road  or  lane  leading  to 
a  plantation,  a  crowd  of  darkies  would  be  seen  hurrying  pell-mell 
down  the  lane  toward  us.  And  then  they  would  take  their  places  in 
the  colored  column  that  already  tramped  along  the  road  in  awe  and 
wonderment  beside  "de  sodjers."  There  were  stout  young  darkies 
with  bundles  slung  over  their  backs,  old  men  hobbling  along  with 
canes,  women  in  best  bib  and  tucker  with  immense  bundles  on  their 
heads,  mothers  with  babes  in  their  arms,  and  a  barefooted  brood  trot- 
ting along  at  their  heels ;  and  now  and  then  one  would  call  out  anx- 
iously to  some  venturesome  boy,  — 

"  Now,  you  Sam !  Whar  you  goin'  dar  ?  You  done  gone  git  run 
ober  by  de  sodjers  yit,  you  will." 

"  Auntie,  you've  got  a  good  many  little  folks  to  look  after,  haven't 
you  ?  "  some  kindly  soldier  would  say  to  one  of  the  mothers. 

"  Ya-as,  Gunnel,  right  smart  o'  chilluns  I'se  got  here ;  but  I'se 
a-gwine  up  Norf,  an  can't  leabe  enny  on  'em  behind,  sah." 

Fully  persuaded  that  the  year  of  jubilee  had  come  at  last,  the  poor 
things  joined  us,  from  every  plantation  along  the  road,  many  of  them 
mayhap  leaving  good  masters  for  bad,  and  comfortable  homes  for  no 
homes  at  all.  Occasionally,  however,  we  met  some  who  would  not 
leave.  I  remember  one,  old,  gray-headed,  stoop-shouldered  uncle  who 
stood  leaning  over  a  gate,  looking  wide  eyed  at  the  blue  coats  and  the 
great  exodus  of  his  people. 

"  Come  along,  uncle,"  shouted  one  of  the  men.  "  Come  along,  — 
the  year  of  jubilee  is  come  !  " 


242  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

"No,  sah.  Dis  yere  chile's  too  ole.  Reckon  I  better  stay  wid  ole 
Mars'r." 

When  we  halted  at  nightfall  in  a  cotton-field,  around  us  was 
gathered  a  great  throng  of  colored  people,  houseless,  homeless,  well- 
nigh  dead  with  fatigue,  and  with  nothing  to  eat.  Near  where  we 
pitched  our  tent,  for  instance,  was  a  poor  negro  woman  with  six  little 
children,  of  whom  the  oldest  was  apparently  not  more  than  eight  or 
nine  years  of  age.  The  whole  forlorn  family  crouched  shivering  to- 
gether in  the  rain  and  sleet.  Andy  and  I  thought,  as  we  were  driving 
in  our  tent-pins,  — 

"  That's  pretty  hard  now,  isn't  it  ?  Couldn't  we  somehow  get  a 
shelter  and  something  to  eat  for  the  poor  souls?  " 

It  was  not  long  before  we  had  set  up  a  rude  but  serviceable  shelter, 
and  thrown  in  a  blanket  and  built  a  fire  in  front  of  them,  and  set 
Dinah  to  cooking  coffee  and  frying  bacon  for  her  famishing  brood. 

Never  shall  I  forget  how  comical  those  little  darkies  looked  as  the}7 
sat  cross-legged  about  the  fire,  watching  the  frying-pan  and  coffee-pot 
with  great  eager  eyes  ! 

Dinah,  as  she  cooked,  and  poked  the  fire  betimes,  told  Andy  and 
me  how  she  had  deserted  the  old  home  at  the  plantation,  —  a  home 
which  no  doubt  she  afterward  wished  she  had  never  left. 

"When  we  heerd  dat  de  Yankees  was  a-comin',"  said  she,  "de 
folks  all  git  ready  fer  to  leabe.  Ole  Mars'  John,  he  ride  out  de  road 
dis  way,  an'  young  Mars'  Harry,  he  ride  out  de  road  dat  way,  fer  to 
watch  if  dey  was  a-comin  ;  and  den  ebbery  now  an'  den  one  or  udder 
on  'em  'd  come  a-ridin'  up  to  de  house  an'  say,  '  Did  ye  see  anyt'ing  on 
'em  yit?  Did  ye  hear  whar  dey  is  now?'  An'  den  one  mawning, 
down  come  young  Mars'  Harry  a-ridin'  his  hoss  at  a  gallop, —  'Git  out 
o'  dis  !  Git  out  o'  dis!  De  Yankees  is  a-comin'!  De  Yankees  is 
a-comin' ! '  and  den  all  de  folks  done  gone  cl'ar  out  an'  leabe  us  all  'lone, 
an'  so  when  we  see  de  sodjers  comin'  we  done  cl'ar  out  too, —  ki-yi !  " 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

"JOHNNY   COMES   MARCHING   HOME." 

WE  had  just  come  out  of  what  is  known  as  the  "  Second  Hatcher's 
Run "  fight,  somewhere  about  the  middle  of  February,  1865.  The 
company,  which  was  now  reduced  to  a  mere  handful  of  men,  was 
standing  about  a  smoking  fire  in  the  woods,  discussing  the  engagement 
and  relating  adventures,  when  some  one  came  in  from  brigade  head- 
quarters, shouting  the  following  message  —  "  Say,  boys,  good  news ! 
They  told  me  over  at  headquarters  that  we  are  to  be  sent  North  to 
relieve  the  '  regulars  '  somewhere." 

Ha !  ha !  ha !  That  was  an  old  story,  —  too  old  to  be  good,  and 
too  good  to  be  true.  For  a  year  and  more  we  had  been  hearing  that 
same  good  news,  —  "Going  to  Baltimore,"  "Going  to  Washington," 
and  so  forth,  and  we  always  ended  with  going  into  battle  instead,  or 
off  on  some  long  raid. 

So  we  didn't  much  heed  the  tidings;  we  were  too  old  birds  to  be 
caught  with  chaff. 

But,  in  spite  of  our  incredulity,  the  next  morning  we  w*ere 
marched  down  to  General  Grant's  branch  of  the  Petersburg  Railway, 
loaded  on  box  cars,  and  carried  to  City  Point,  where  we  at  once 
embarked  on  two  huge  steamers,  which  we  found  awaiting  us. 

For  two  days  and  nights  we  were  cooped  up  in  those  miserable 
boats.  We  had  no  fire,  and  we  suffered  from  the  cold.  We  had  no 
water  for  thirty-six  hours,  and,  of  course,  no  coffee ;  and  what  is  life 
to  a  soldier  without  coffee?  All  were  sea-sick,  too,  for  the  weather 
was  rough.  And  so,  what  with  hunger  and  thirst,  cold,  and  sea-sick- 
ness, we  landed  one  evening  at  Baltimore  more  dead  than  alive. 

243 


244  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY. 

No  sooner  were  we  well  down  the  gang-plank  than  the  crowd  of 
apple  and  pie  women  that  stood  on  the  wharf  made  quick  sales  and 
large  profits.  Then  we  marched  away  to  a  "  soldiers'  retreat "  and 
were  fed.  Fed  !  We  never  tasted  so  grand  a  supper  as  that  before  or 
since  —  "  salt  horse,"  dry  bread,  and  coffee  !  The  darkies  that  carried 
around  the  great  cans  of  the  latter  were  kept  pretty  busy  for  a  while, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  and  they  must  have  thought,  — 

"  Dem  sodjers,  dar,  must  be  done  gone  starved,  dat's  sartin. 
Nebber  seed  sech  hungry  men  in  all  my  bawn  days,  —  nebber !  " 

After  supper  we  were  lodged  in  a  great  upper  room  of  a  large 
building,  having  bunks  ranged  around  the  four  sides  of  it,  and  in  the 
middle  an  open  space,  which  was  soon  turned  to  account ;  for  one  of 
the  boys  strung  up  his  fiddle,  which  he  had  carried  011  his  knapsack 
for  full  two  years,  on  every  march  and  through  every  battle  we  had 
been  in,  and  with  the  help  of  this  we  proceeded  to  celebrate  our  late 
"  change  of  front "  with  music  and  dancing  until  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning. 

Down  through  the  streets  of  Baltimore  we  march  the  next  day, 
with  our  blackened  and  tattered  flags  a-flying,  mustering  only  one 
hundred  and  eighty  men  out  of  the  one  thousand  who  marched 
through  those  same  streets  nearly  three  years  before.  We  find  a  train 
of  cars  awaiting  us,  which  we  gladly  enter,  making  no  complaint  that 
we  are  stowed  away  in  box  or  cattle  cars,  instead  of  passenger  coaches, 
for  we  understand  that  Uncle  Sam  cannot  afford  any  luxuries  for  his 
boys,  and  we  have  been  used  to  roughing  it.  Nor  do  we  complain, 
either,  that  we  have  no  fire,  although  we  have  just  come  out  of  a  warm 
climate,  and  the  snow  is  a  foot  deep  at  Baltimore,  and  is  getting 
deeper  every  hour  as  we  steam  away  northward.  Toward  evening  we 
pass  Harrisburg,  giving  "  three  cheers  for  Andy  Curtin,"  as  the  State 
Capitol  comes  in  sight.  Night  draws  on,  and  the  boys  one  by  one 
begin  to  bunk  down  on  the  floor,  wrapped  in  their  greatcoats  and 


"JOHNNY  COMES  MARCHING  HOME."  247 

blankets.  But  I  cannot  lie  down  or  sleep  until  we  have  passed  a 
certain  way  station,  from  which  it  is  but  two  miles  across  the  hills  to 
my  home.  I  stand  at  the  door  of  the  car,  shivering  and  chilled  to  the 
bone,  patiently  waiting  and  watching  as  village  after  village  rushes  by 
in  the  bright  moonlight,  until  at  long  last  we  reach  the  well-known 
little  station  at  the  hour  of  midnight.  And  then,  as  I  look  across  the 
snowclad  moonlit  hills,  toward  the  old  red  farmhouse  where  father 
and  mother  and  sisters  are  all  sleeping  soundly,  with  never  a  thought 
of  my  being  so  near,  I  fall  to  thinking,  and  wondering,  and  wishing 
with  a  bounding  heart,  as  the  train  dashes  on  between  the  mountain 
and  the  river,  and  bears  me  again  farther  and  farther  away  from  ho*me. 
Then  rolling  myself  up  in  my  blanket,  and  drawing  the  cape  of  my 
overcoat  about  my  head,  I  lie  down  on  the  car  floor  beside  Andy,  and 
am  soon  sound  asleep. 

The  following  evening  we  landed  at  Elmira,  New  York,  where  we 
were  at  once  put  on  garrison  duty,  Why  we  had  been  taken  out  of 
the  field  and  sent  to  a  distant  Northern  city,  we  never  could  discover, 
and  we  had  seen  too  much  service  to  think  of  asking  questions  which 
the  mysterious  pigeon-holes  of  the  War  Department  alone  could 
answer.  But  we  always  deemed  it  a  pity  that  we  were  not  left  in  the 
field  until  the  great  civil  war  came  to  an  end  with  the  surrender  of 
Lee  at  Appomattox,  and  that  we  had  no  part  in  the  final  gathering  of 
the  troops  at  Washington,  where  the  grand  old  Army  of  the  Potomac 
passed  in  review  for  the  last  time. 

But  so  it  was,  that  after  some  months  of  monotonous  garrison  duty 
at  Elmira,  the  great  and  good  news  came  at  last  one  day  that  peace 
had  been  declared,  and  that  the  great  war  was  over !  My  young 
readers  can  scarcely  imagine  what  joy  instantly  burst  forth  all  over 
the  land.  Bells  were  rung  all  day  long,  bonfires  burned,  and  people 
paraded  the  streets  half  the  night,  and  everybody  was  glad  beyond 
possibility  of  expression.  And  among  the  joyful  thousands  all  over 


248  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER   BOY, 

the  land,  the  Boys  in  Blue  were  probably  the  gladdest  of  all ;  for  was 

not  the  war  over  now,  and  would  not  "  Johnny  come  marching  home  ?  " 

But  before  we  could  go  home  we  must  be  mustered  out,  and  then 


THE    WELCOME    HOME. 


we  must  return  to  our  State  capital  to  be  paid  off  and  finally  dis- 
banded, and  say  a  last  good  by  to  our  comrades  in  arms,  the  great 
majority  of  whom  we  should  never,  in  all  probability,  see  again.  And 


"JOHNNY  COMES  MARCHING  HOME."  249 

a  more  hearty,  rough  and  ready,  affectionate  good  by  there  never  was 
in  all  this  wide  world.  In  the  rooms  of  one  of  the  hotels  at  the  State 
capital  we  were  gathered,  waiting  for  our  respective  trains.  Knap- 
sacks slung,  Sharp's  rifles  at  a  "  right  shoulder  shift "  or  a  "  carry  "  ; 
songs  were  sung,  hands  were  shaken,  or  rather  wrung ;  loud,  hearty 
"  God  bless  you,  old  fellows  !  "  resounded  ;  and  many  were  the  toasts 
and  the  healths  that  were  drunk  before  the  men  parted  for  good 
and  all. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  last  camp-fire  of  the  150th  broke 
up.  "  Good  by,  boys !  Good  by  !  God  bless  you,  old  fellow  !  "  was 
shouted  again  and  again,  as  by  companies,  or  in  little  squads,  we  were 
off  for  our  several  trains,  some  of  us  bound  north,  some  east,  some 
west,  —  and  all  bound  for  home  ! 

Of  the  thirteen  men  who  had  gone  out  from  our  little  village 
(whither  my  father's  family  had  meanwhile  removed),  but  three  had 
lived  to  return  home  together.  One  had  already  gone  home,  the  day 
before.  Some  had  been  discharged  because  of  sickness  or  wounds,  and 
four  had  been  killed.  As  we  rode  along  over  the  dusty  turnpike  from 

L to  M ,  in  the  rattling  old  stage  coach,  that  evening  in  June, 

we  could  not  help  thinking  how  painful  it  would  be  for  the  friends  of 
Joe  Gutelius  and  Jimmy  Lucas  and  Joe  Ruhl  and  John  Diehl  to  see 
us  return  without  their  brave  boys,  whom  we  had  left  on  the  field. 

Reaching  the  village  at  dusk,  we  found  gathered  at  the  hotel  where 
the  stage  stopped,  a  great  crowd  of  our  schoolfellows  and  friends,  who 
had  come  to  meet  us.  We  almost  feared  to  step  down  among  them, 
lest  they  should  quite  tear  us  to  pieces  with  shaking  of  hands.  The 
stage  had  scarcely  stopped  when  I  heard  a  well-known  voice 
calling,  — 

"  Harry  !     Are  you  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father !     Here  I  am  !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  my  boy  ! " 


250  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   DRUMMER  BOY. 

And.  pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  my  father  plunges  into 
the  stage,  not  able  to  wait  until  it  has  driven  around  to  the  house  ; 
and  if  his  voice  is  husky  with  emotion,  as  he  often  repeats,  "  God  bless 
you,  my  boy ! "  and  gets  his  arm  around  my  neck,  is  it  any  wonder? 

But  my  dog,  Rollo,  can't  get  into  the  stage,  and  so  he  runs 
barking  after  it,  and  is  the  first  to  greet  me  at  the  gate,  and  jumps  up 
at  me,  with  his  great  paws  on  my  shoulders.  Does  he  know  me  ?  I 
rather  think  he  does  ! 

Then  mother  and  sisters  come  around,  and  they  must  needs  call 
for  a  lamp  and  hold  it  close  to  my  face,  and  look  me  all  over,  from 
head  to  foot,  while  father  is  saying  to  himself,  again  and  again,  "  God 
bless  you,  my  boy  !  " 

Although  I  knew  that  my  name  was  never  forgotten  in  the  eve- 
ning prayer  all  the  while  I  was  away,  yet  not  once,  perhaps,  in  all 
that  time,  was  father's  voice  so  choked  in  utterance  as  when  now,  his 
heart  overflowing,  he  came  to  give  thanks  for  my  safe  return.  And 
when  I  lay  down  that  night  in  a  clean  white  bed,  for  the  first  time  in 
three  long  years,  I  thanked  God  for  peace  and  home. 

And  —  Andy  ?  Why  —  the  Lord  bless  him  and  his  !  —  he's  a 
soldier  still.  For,  having  laid  aside  the  blue,  he  put  on  the  black, 
being  a  sober,  steady-going  Presbyterian  parson  now,  somewhere 
up  in  York  State.  I  haven't  seen  him  for  years,  but  when  we 
do  meet,  once  in  a  great  while,  there  is  such  a  wringing  of  hands  as 
makes  us  both  wince  until  the  tears  start,  and  we  sit  up  talking  over 
old  times  so  far  into  the  night,  that  the  good  folk  of  the  house  wonder 
whether  we  shall  ever  get  to  — 

THE  END. 


LITTLE 


BY  MARGARET  VANDEGRIFT. 

Author  of  "The  Dead  Doll,"  etc. 

Uniform  with   "Davy  and  the  Goblin,"   "The  Peterkin  Papers,"  etc. 
$1.5O.     1  Vol.     Square  4to.     Illustrated.    $1.5O. 

Mrs.  Austin,  the  author  and  critic,  pronounces  this  "  A  sweet  and  lovely  story  of  family  life  and  the 

amusements  and  interests  of  John  and  Tiny  Leslie,  the  hero  and  heroine.    It  is  exactly  the  book  parents 

would  like  to  give  either  girls  or  boys  as  a  Christmas  present.    The  moral  influence  is  admirable,  and  the 

•  language  pure  and  elegant.    It  is  well  adapted  to  children  of  ten  or  twelve  years  old;  but,  withal,  very 

interesting  to  other  readers." 

It  is  a  remarkably  interesting  account  of  a  growing  boy  and  girl,  with  their  tempta- 
tions and  victories  or  defeats,  and  the  patient  wisdom  of  their  mother,  at  once  consoler, 
adviser  and  inspiring  leader.  The  book  is  not  so  didactic  as  to  recall  many  solemn  failures 
of  past  days,  in  the  line  of  i(  improving  literature  for  the  young,"  which  have  been  so 
overweighted  with  priggishness  as  to  bore  their  readers  and  hearers  out  of  all  patience  or 
interest.  "  Little  Helpers,"  on  the  other  hand,  is  full  of  snap  and  go,  with  immensely 
droll  stories,  and  bits  of  homely  pathos  and  tenderness.  The  movement  is  rapid,  and 
adventure  succeeds  adventure  so  trippingly  that  every  reader,  old  or  young,  cannot  choose 

but  follow  the  narrative.  

Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  pi-ice  by  the  Publishers, 

CO. 


By  FRANCES  COURTENAY  BAYLOR. 

Author  of  "On   Both  Sides,"  etc. 

1  vol.    Square  4to.    With  many  illustrations $1.50. 

Miss  Baylor's  charming  and  "  ower  true  "  tale  has  formed  (though  only  given  in  part)  the  chief  attrac- 
tion of  the  "St.  Nicholas  "  for  a  year,  and  ia  its  present  and  complete  form  will  be  heartily  welcomed, 
most  of  all  by  those  who  have  already  learned  to  love  its  little  hero  and  heroine,  and  will  eagerly  look  for 
the  full  story  of  their  adventures. 

The  locale  of  these  events,  amid  the  romantic  scenery  of  Northern  Mexico  and  "Western  Texas,  is 
brilliantly  and  accurately  described,  with  the  ways  and  habits  of  the  Texans,  Mexicans,  and  Indians.  With 
these  are  the  records  of  the  young  hero  and  heroine,  in  and  beyond  the  Canon  of  Roses,  and  their  numerous 
strange  and  diverting  adventures,  making  a  volume  of  rare  and  permanent  interest  for  young  or  old. 

xiil 


v  v/ihl?  ••  GrHe  * 

and  Legend?  of  tlje  Did  plantation, 

By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS, 

Author  of  "Uncle  Remus:  his  Songs  and  Sayings,"  "Mingo,"  etc. 

1  Vol.   12mo.    Illustrated.   $1.5O ;  in  paper  covers,  5O  cents. 

"Brer  Rabbit"  becomes  the  hero  of  a  new  set  of  adventures,  more  exciting 
than  his  others,  and  CHURCH  and  BEARD  have  illustrated  them  with  admirable  skill 
and  quaintness. 

The  Leipsic  Hagazin  die  Literature  says  :  "  Uncle  Remns  is  the  title  to  a  work  which  may  be  already 
unown  to  ethnologists,  but  which  is  worthy  of  wider  attention,  since  it  affords  entertainment  to  young  and 
old  by  its  fresh,  sparkling  humor.  Numerous  journals  have  for  some  time  contained  favorable  notices  of 
the  work,  the  merit  of  which  claims  still  further  indorsement  here.  Uncle  Remus  is  the  type  of  a  planta- 
tion negro  as  he  still  exists,  notwithstanding  political  changes  in  the  South.  He  has  lost  nothing  of  his 
naivete,  or  his  happy  obliviousness  of  right  and  wrong,  of  mine  and  thine,  still  as  nebulous  as  ever  to  hia 
imagination.  He  is  and  must  remain  the  creature  of  opportunity,  and  he  is  witty  and  cunning  enough  to 
take  advantage  of  occasion,  with  natural  slyness,  judging  for  himself." 

"  Richly  and  grotesquely  humorous  legends  and  folk-tales."  —  Good  Literature. 

"  Charming  legends  full  of  weird  fancy." — Knickerbocker. 

"  An  exquisite  literary  setting  for  gems  of  hitherto  unwritten  legends."  —  Savannah  News. 

"  It  is  not  a  book ;  it  is  an  epoch."  — The  American. 

"  A  wondrously  amusing  book."  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


THREE  GOOD  GIANTS. 

BY  FRANCOIS  RABELAIS. 

Translated  by  John  Dimitry.      With  175  Pictures  by  Gustave  Dore 

and  Anton  Kobida. 

$1.5O.     Uniform  with  "Davy  and  the  Goblin,"  etc. 

"  The  present  beautiful  edition  of  an  amusing  book  cannot  fail  to  amuse  thousands  of 
little  ones,  who  perhaps  in  these  days  are  growing  tired  of  '  Gulliver's  Travels,'  'Robinson 
Crusoe,'  '  Alice  in  Wonderland,'  and  '  The  Arabian  Nights.' "  —  The  Week. 

"Coleridge  classes  Rabelais  with  'the  great  creative  minds,  Shakspeare,  Dante,  and 
Cervantes.'  In  '  Three  Good  Giants,'  children,  young  and  old,  will  find  a  story  which 
will  vie  in  delightful  interest  with  'Robinson  Crusoe.'  The  adventures  of  the  hearty, 
good-natured  old  king  Grandgousier,  his  son  Gargantua,  and  his  grandson  Pantagruel,  all 
of  them  mighty  heroes  and  doers  of  wonderful  deeds,  will  be  read  and  re-read  with  ever- 
increasing  enjoyment.  In  paper,  printing,  and  binding, '  Three  Good  Giants '  is  everything 
that  a  choice  holiday  book  should  be." — Washington  Transcript. 


Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price  by  tlie  pitblisJiers, 


&  oo., 


HE    DEA::>  DOLL 


AND  OTHER  VERSES. 
BY  MARGARET  YANDEGRIFT. 

Author  of  "Little  Helpers,"  etc. 

1  Vol.     Square   8vo.      Fully   illustrated.      Uniform    with   "Davy 
and  the  Goblin,"  etc.     $1.5O. 

A  charming  collection  of  wise  and  witty  verses  for  children,  many  of  which,  like  "  THE 
DEAD  DOLL,"  "THE  FATE  OF  A  FACE-MAKER,"  etc.,  are  very  popular,  and 
have  been  copied  all  over  the  country ;  and  are  household  words  in  thousands  of  families, 
where  this  complete  and  beautiful  edition  will  be  eagerly  welcomed.  Among  the  other 
poems  are 

THE  GALLEY  CAT.  THE  CAT   AND   THE   FIDDLE. 

SLUMBER-LAND.  A  DREAM   OF  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

AT   SUNSET.  THE   CLOWN'S   BABY. 

WINNING  A   PRINCESS.  THE   KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

These  poems  are  not  only  very  attractive  and  interesting  to  children,  but  they  also  have 
a  great  fascination  for  all  who  care  for  children,  and  for  sweetness  and  innocence  of  life, 


Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers, 

OO-3    BOSTCOST. 


IAYY    7IND    TF[E 

A   JinTBNILE. 


PBLIN. 


By  CHARLES  E.  CARRYL 

Square  4to.    Illustrated $1.5O. 

The  Believing  Voyage,  the  Sugar-Plum  Garden,  the  Butterscotchmen,  the  Mov- 
ing Forest,  Jack  and  the  Beanstalk's  Farm,  the  Giant  Badorful,  Sinbad  the  Sailor's 
House,  etc.  These  fascinating  chapters  are  illustrated  with  quaint  pictures. 

"  It  appeals  to  children  of  any  age  from  six  to  sixty."  —  Quebec  Chronicle. 

"  A  most  enchanting  story." —  Traveller. 

"  In  '  Davy  and  the  Goblin '  we  have  one  of  the  most  fantastic  children's  stories  that  we  ever  remember 
to  have  read.  Mr.  Carryl  might  easily  have  written  what  he  has  written  if  he  had  never  read  Alice  in 
Wonderland;  he  has  the  same  whimsical  cast  of  mind  as  Lewis  Carroll,  the  same  ready  invention,  if  indeed 
not  more  of  it;  and  an  uncommon  brightness  of  manner.  There  is  nowhere  the  least  strain  on  his  inven- 
tion and  imagination,  which  appear  to  be  inexhaustible.  '  Davy  and  the  Goblin  '  is  a  remarkable  story, 
which  in  its  way  is  the  perfection  of  what  childish  fantastic  writing  should  be."  Thus  speaks  Richard 
Henry  Stoddard,  in  the  JV.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

"  '  Davy  and  the  Goblin  '  is  one  of  those  examples  of  juvenile  literature  that  make  middle-aged  people 
wish  they  had  not  been  born  —  until  twenty  years  later.  Mr.  Charles  E.  Carryl  has  given  to  his  young  ad- 
mirers a  perfectly  charming  story.  Wedded  to  language  suited  to  the  comprehension  of  young  readers  is 
found  subtle,  brightest  wit  of  an  order  to  be  enjoyed  by  children  of  a  larger  growth." 


By   LUCRETIA  P.   HALE. 

A    NEW   EDITION,   REVISED  AND    ENLARGED,    UNIFORM   WITH    "DAVY 

AND    THE     GOBLIN." 

Square  4to.    Illustrated.    $1.50.    Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price. 


"The  Peterkin  Papers"  were  received  by  the  people  with  great  applause,  which  increased  with  each 
number,  until  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Peterkin,  who  put  salt  in  her  coffee,  and  the  benignant  lady  from 
Philadelphia,  and  the  sapient  Solomon  John,  and  Agamemnon,  and  Elizabeth  Eliza,  and  the  two  little  boys 
with  rubber-boots  became  familiar  characters  in  thousands  of  happy  households.  In  1880  theoe  irresistibly 
and  demurely  funny  stories  were  brought  out  in  book  form ;  and  they  have  since  become  a  classic  in  all 
libraries  of  merriment.  In  response  to  the  continued  demand,  Ticknor  &  Co.  have  prepared  a  handsome 
new  edition,  which  takes  a  conspicuous  place  among  the  holiday  books  for  children  and  lovers  of  children. 
The  cover  is  adorned  with  vivid  representations  of  Mrs.  Peterkin  and  her  coffee,  the  struggle  of  the  Peter- 
kin  family  with  their  summer-resort  trunk,  and  the  memorable  rubber-boots.  Within  are  over  200  fair  large 
pages,  with  delightfully  readable  type.  Several  capital  full-page  illustrations,  by  Attwood,  have  been  re- 
drawn  for  this  work;  and  there  are  200  new  pictures  by  F.  Myrick. 

"  The  very  name  of  this  collection  of  absurdly  laughable  sketches  will  raise  a  smile  on  the  face  of  the 
most  lugubrious  reader.  Miss  Hale's  humor  is  irresistible.  Her  accounts  of  the  doings  and  experiences 
of  the  Peterkins  remind  one  of  the  stories  of  the  inhabitants  of  ancient  Gotham,  who  tried  to  drcwn  eels, 
and  to  catch  birds  by  surrounding  their  nests."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

xiv 


AT  CLOSE  QUARTERS  THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  GETTYSBURG. 

The  Recollections  of  a  Drummer  Boy. 

BY  REV.  HARRY  M.  KIEFFER, 

LATE  OF  THE  150TH  PENNSYLVANIA  VOLUNTEERS. 

Copiously   illustrated   with   scenes   in   camp   and   field.      1  vol.    Square  Svo. 
Revised  and  enlarged,  and  printed  from  entirely  new  plates.     $1.5O. 

A  new  and  enlarged  edition  of  this  admirable  book,  which  is  particularly  adapted  for  youths,  and 
should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  every  lad  in  the  country,  to  impart  a  knowledge  of  the  old  war  days. 

The  position  of  the  author,  as  a  clergyman  of  the  Reformed  Church,  gives  the  book  a  certain  value 
to  all  persons  interested  in  true  and  pure  literature,  which  is  also  of  the  greatest  power  of  attraction. 
"  The  Recollections  of  a  Drummer  Boy  "  has  become  a  very  popular  book  for  Sunday-school  libraries ; 
and  should  be  read  by  all  old  soldiers  and  their  children.  The  great  demand  for  the  book  has  compelled 
the  publishers  to  issue  this  enlarged  and  beautified  new  edition. 

"  The  author  describes  the  war  fever  and  enlistment,  the  advance  to  Virginia,  the  battles  of  Chancel- 
lorsville,  Gettysburg,  the  Wilderness,  Petersburg,  and  the  end,  with  a  simplicity  and  straightforwardness 
that  are  full  of  pathos.  The  evening  camps,  the  frugal  '  hard  tack,'  the  long  marches  over  '  the  sacred 
soil,'  the  Bucktail  cantonments  under  the  dark  Virginia  pines,  the  whir  of  the  long  roll,  the  silent  watch 
of  midnight  pickets,  the  songs  of  the  camp,  the  moans  of  the  hospital,  the  white  tents  on  Maryland  hills, 
the  joyous  rush  of  artillery  coming  into  action,  the  imposing  splendors  of  Presidential  reviews  — all 
these  and  a  thousand  other  phases  of  that  exciting  era  are  reproduced  here  with  picturesque  fidelity; 
and  once  more  its  readers  are  "  Tenting  on  the  old  Camp-ground." — Washington  Herald. 

Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  I'vblislient, 

TIOIKIIIKroiFl    Sc    OO-3    BOSTOHST. 


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University  of  California  Library 
Los  Angeles 

on  the  last  date  stamrW  below 


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